Translation:Persian tale

by Viktor Pinchuk

Layout 4

Philosophical parable written during wanderings in Iran

"Perhaps in a previous life I was a hermit living in the mountains..." — he joked sometimes. — Do you believe in the transmigration of souls?"

Now, even with a very strong desire, he would not remember when it happened: from a certain moment the mountains entered his life, becoming an integral part of it. In the intervals between ascents, i.e. most of the time, he performed routine work in a stuffy office, warming himself with thoughts about what was coming.

He hardly noticed what was happening around him, was waiting for a meeting with the mountain peaks as a believer waits for the second coming. Relatives and acquaintances did not share his beliefs: "If you love mountains so much, settle on one of them, you will be fine there..." — these words sounded more than once. He answered usually, the point is not only to be among the mountains, to see them, to feel their proximity, to breathe the air of freedom, but also in the difficulties of climbing, in preparing the route, thoughts about it. In addition, separation strengthens attachment. Vis-a-vis in response, usually shrugging, immediately stopped the discussion. How can you wish for difficulties? A car, an apartment, comfort and coziness — that's the meaning of life.

One day, tired of the misunderstanding of others, he told himself that he had to leave the city, settling in the mountains. Chose the most inaccessible peak: сlimbing it was dangerous, and descending it was almost impossible. Never throwing words to the wind, he climbed up on a rock and settled there, in one of the caves. "The essence of a person is those of his properties that cannot be changed so that he does not cease to be himself," he engraved with a sharp stone on the wall of the new dwelling. If there is happiness in the world, perhaps this was it: the reunion has happened, and from now on it will always be so.

However, after a while, like a worm sharpening a tree, an incomprehensible melancholy began to overcome him: daily contemplating the same thing, he began to quietly hate everything he saw around. It seemed to him that something had shifted in this world: the boredom and routine that had been next to him in his previous life now settled here, on this rock, the office was replaced by a cave. How can you live if you don't expect anything? He began to miss the old days when he spent time counting down the days before climbing, striving for something, waiting for a meeting with the peaks.

Somehow, on one of the same, similar to each other days, he decided to return: he went out to the cliff, looked at the mountain range, and stepped down into the past.

"Perhaps in a previous life I was a hermit living in the mountains..." — he joked sometimes. — Do you believe in the transmigration of souls?"