The old-one saw the tragedy and sorrow of the beings in the herd. This tragedy and sorrow stretched back eons upon eons. This tragedy and sorrow was inescapable to the herd, and this too was the same plight of the nobles. For the first time he saw the moral decay, the rise of amoral and immoral beings. The nobles were no different from the herd of beings they commanded.

The putrid stench of the beings and nobles overwhelmed the senses of the old one. As he looked about seeing for the first time the individuals in the herd, there he saw within them their hates and fears, their loathing and their jealousies, their greed and their deceptions and deceits that they tried to play on each other. The old-one sat in his solitude watching; not believing what he had always known was true. Each of the beings and the nobles alike were themselves not only the betrayed but also the betrayers of their own morals.

The old-one seeing, now feeling, felt sorrow he knew how they felt. Choked by his own empathy, he again pondered where his thoughts would wander; he found they were wandering from one end of his reality to the other. He was appalled by what he saw and especially what he felt. To the old one, this was enlightenment, a new beginning. He knew not what had caused all this emotion to erupt as they did within his mind. His soul ached in pain, his heart cried for multitudes of the beings in the world.

The old-one sat stoically, his mind heart and soul awash in a foaming, frothing sea of emotions. The myriad of emotions growing, crashing into his mind just as the surf crashes into rocks some violently brutal, some barely making a ripple on a placid surface of his being Each one seeking its own space and time.

He stopped writing, rubbed his hand across his pate, and sighed. “What, oh what has happened to me?

He leaned back, slipping his glasses off his face. He steeples his fingers, resting his chin on them he closed his eyes. His thoughts raced, he had never been in this state of mind. He shook his head as he had done a thousand times before. He sat back on his haunches, slowly rocking himself continuously back and forth.

His thoughts now trying to define what each feeling or emotion was. He had to slow these thoughts down and he began his meditation. As the old-one rocked, his thoughts drifted into nothingness. A kaleidoscope of colors and emotions, he began to match the color to the feeling and adding the nuances to give each what he hoped was right.

The old-one worked with these pieces as if it was a puzzle, Ah yes, a puzzle putting it together would help him forever solve the riddles of his life. He meditated about it; he knew that all the emotions need a power of their own. However, the old-one had difficulty learning what each was supposed to be. He had to draw on distant, long forgotten memories. However, memories are not a guarantee of what was actually remembered.

The memory would always yield to the power of the will. He felt alone; he needed something to help him put all of these feelings in their proper place and perspectives. He knew the answers would come. He had to be patient and wait. He had a thought he smiled and began to write once more, the words came steadily to him. As he wrote, his hand began to find the tempo in the words. The sentences he had written, page after page of them, yielded under the old one’s pen. His hand sometimes trembled at what he was pulling from his memory.

He sorted out the real life memories from those memories, that over time his mind had adulterated and twisted. The old one begged forgiveness, he let each of those horrible memories slide one by one silently into the abyss.