Be

The man arrived at his neighbor’s door and rudely claimed, ‘Hey up mate, I know you better than you know yourself.’

‘Rubbish’, the other man laughed at the ridiculous remark and marveled at his serious face, saying: ‘It might be a fact that I know my neighbors better than you. But get real, no way do you know me better than you say you do them, matey. In fact,’ he paused to point a finger before he turned the tables: ‘Who’s to say I don’t know you better than you know yourself?’ he asked.

‘Listen here,’ the other man paused to take a step back with his own finger now drawn, ‘I know them better than you do,’ he said quite seriously, ‘But no way do you know me better than myself.’

Now it was the other man’s turn to be serious: ‘Listen,‘ he said, ‘I know plenty about you, matey.’

‘Oh ah…And from whom may I ask?’ the neighbor demanded.

‘Tavern talk, mate,‘ he grinned, ‘You know: hot gossip.’

‘Yeah, bigger sport than football. Or at least so I hear.’

Together they started out on an angry walk, staying at arms length, as they spoke about what they’d heard about each other both good, and bad through the grapevine. They visited the woman at the next house who, after much swearing, joined them with her finger pointing accusingly at the houses of her neighbors. The group continued to grow as they knocked every door with the shocking news of how much they knew about each other. Some tried to hide, others put up a fight but resistors were soon overpowered by the mob of know-alls. Still others broke down and cried themselves dry until they were dragged up to their feet again. As the mob grew there was no stopping them, and soon even police and soldiers gave up their posts to join in the march of the know-alls. Chanting the eerie mantra, ‘We know…You Know… We know…’ over, and over, like people possessed. All except for one, an elderly man, lithe in body and spirits who slipped through the fingers of the mob, shining the drainpipe until he stood on top of his roof naked, having thrown all his possessions and clothes at them when they tried to overpower him.

‘Listen to me you stupid petty fools,’ he ordered them with an ancient voice that shook the earth beneath their feet and threw them into shocked silence. ‘None of you really know each other for you are forever finding out about yourselves. And that is a never ending task.’

There followed a minute of whispering before he continued. ‘Your Houses, your clothes, your cars, your jobs, your pleasures, these things don’t really say who you are. These are just the pages of a recipe book. The images which will fade and cause you anguish. You are like the tasters of these dishes and the story can only be written by you with your likes and dislikes.’

The mob sounded disgruntled, and some made the loco sign to their nodding friends.

‘Listen to yourselves like bleating sheep. So willing to run and ruin each others lives. If only you’d just be yourselves for one moment, just to give yourself time to create your own dish. You could all be masters of the self. The masters of Be.’

The mob sounded miffed and then they began to laugh at the old man, calling him names and throwing rotten fruit.

The old man raised his arms to defend himself from the onslaught, ‘Be,’ he shouted, ‘Just be.’

‘B-Be,’ screamed a little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. In her hand she held an orange ‘B’ brick.

‘B-Be,’ joined in another baby, and then another.

The sound of the jeering mob died as more and more babies nearly leapt from their parents’ arms with the cry.

‘Be.’

‘See.’ the lithe old man pointed at the bricks which were every color of the rainbow dotted throughout the mob as far as the eye could see. ‘Even the youngest amongst us know their hearts better than some of the elders for all their years of so called wisdom.’

‘Be,’ the children raised their voices in unison.

‘Be,’ joined in the mob, until all were quite agreed that they should practice what should have been a simple task, yet was so easily forgotten.

‘Be.’