Dear Reader, I would like to share this story with you;

It will take you on a seemingly endless journey.
A trip that takes you places I might have visited many moons ago.
It´s a tale that came back to me when I meditated on one of my past lives.

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Chapter 5

Who are your heroes Dear Reader?

Gandhi, JFK, John Lennon, Justin Bieber?

What made them heroes to you? What does such a hero have that you don't?

Why did they only become real heroes after they died?

Aren't the real heroes right next to you, doing the right thing every day without anyone really noticing?

Weeks after the departing ceremony I still struggled with what I´ve seen.
The meaning of the images was clear, a warning like Oniko said. But where was it?
Who were these men and what drove them to commit these degrading acts?

The realization that the white of the snake stood for pure had also crossed my mind a number of times as if it had been whispered to me. Something pure, pure power?
Was that what I was looking for?

The thoughts kept my mind occupied while I helped replenish winter stocks. We stored the dried fish and pickled vegetables in the deeper caves, where the cold was constantly present.

Seeds and bulbs were stored as dryly as possible in the shallower caves. This time of year flour and rice seemed so abundant, but come spring that always proved to be an optical illusion.

That afternoon near the end of the younger children's lessons, Numico asked a very interesting question.

Numico himself was already something. He was different, he was a little slow picking things up. His parents told me that he was late learning to dress himself. And during the games we played, he sometimes seemed not to follow what was going on.

Occasionally he would come to me after classes and tell strange stories, about our tribe's past, or about the animals of the valley.

At first, I assumed he had a vivid imagination and tried to impress me with his stories. But gradually I noticed that there was more. Mainly because of something that happened a couple of moons ago.

Numico said that the grass on the bank made the animals in the valley sick because the grass there was "dirty". I tried not to, but I had to smile because of the uncomplicated way he saw the world. I didn't laugh anymore when some animals turned out to be sick a few days later.

But Numico´s father being one of the men taking care of the animals could explain the story. When I confronted his father about this dirty grass story, he told wasn´t aware himself till two days ago. He had said nothing to Numico and certainly not about grass.

The next day I asked Numico how he knew the animals would get sick. He looked at me with wide surprised eyes: "Didn't they tell you, master?"
"No Numico, they didn't say anything to me."

He looked at me questioningly. “They always tell me everything, about the weather and the water. About boyfriends and quarrels and about the dirty grass.”

“Why is the grass dirty?" I asked him.

“Well, because the ducks are sick and they shit in the grass. The yaks are not smart enough to think about that, they just love grass a lot. So they eat the dirty grass and get sick too.”

“Who told you that Numico,” I ask to coax him out of which adult he heard this from. “The birds that eat the bugs off the cows, they are very smart, they always know a lot. Because they chat with everyone.”

Dumbfounded, I remained behind in the covered place, where I teach until winter. Numico happily walked out, as if nothing had happened, and in his opinion, it probably hadn´t.

In the following days, I visited the valley more often and kept an eye on the ducks. There was definitely something strange about them. A large group of ducks chattered louder than before, pecked themselves, and moved restlessly and uncoordinated. The other ducks kept their distance from this group.

I advised the drovers to keep the cows away from the water's edge and let them drink their water from the troughs. They looked at me strangely but took my advice to heart.

That was the advantage of being a teacher, because of your knowledge people trust you.

After a few days, the sick cattle were on the mend. The ducks, on the other hand, looked worse. Part of the sick group had recovered, but the rest looked lethargic and dull. Their eyes were glassy and their movements slow. Not much later, duck corpses lay here and there along the bank.

Fortunately, the children of the tribe were taught to leave dead animals alone. Out of respect for the deceased, but also from a hygienic point of view. Yet I mentioned in class that the ducks were sick and should not be eaten or touched.

One of the girls thought it was so sad and asked if there was really nothing we could do for them. "Guide them to the next level. Talk to them and explain to them that they can leave this world. That they can get ready for the next one," I said calmly.

She was happy to do something for those poor ducks. I was happy to instill in the children an understanding and respect for death.

So when Numico came up with his question my senses were sharpened, as I still wondered what was going on in his dreamy little head.

"Master, who is the boss of the world and why is he the boss? Where does he live and what does he do?" The questions followed each other rapidly, while Numico normally took his time when he spoke.

These were also really weird questions for a child of our tribe. None of us subordinated others to ourselves. We had our place, our role in the group, but that was about it. The concept of a leader or boss was something foreign and therefore the kids did not utilize it.

I tried to set him straight: "Numico everyone has a certain gift and it is best to share it, but nobody is your boss when you grow up".

Numico looked thoughtfully for a moment and then left with the rest of the class. Or so I thought, because when I left myself, but behind me I heard his voice.

"Master, I respect your answer, but I keep dreaming of a man who lives in a big tower. He has very nice clothes and people are very afraid of him. He feels lonely, but he does not know it. And if I ask in the dream, Who are you? He says, the master of the world. But that is not possible, even the gods do not call themselves masters of the world. How can a man, that is no god, call himself that?"

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Picture By Me And My Artificial Intelligence