This is the story of a man whom I would define as a search engine ...
A finder is someone who seeks, not necessarily someone who is. Nor is anyone
necessarily know what they're looking for. It's just someone for whom life is a search.
One day, he felt the form should go to the town of Karma. He had learned to ignore these feelings rigorous coming from an unknown location itself. So I dropped everything and left.
After two days of walking along the dusty road, he saw in the distance, Kamm, a little before reaching the village, I was much struck a hill on the right the trail. Was covered in a wonderful green and had a lot of trees, birds and lovely flowers. Completely surrounded her like a small polished wooden fence.
A bronze door inviting him to enter.
Suddenly, he felt that he forgot the people and succumbed to the temptation to rest for a moment in that place.
The seeker passed the gate and started walking slowly among the white stones that were distributed as at random from among the trees.
He let his eyes posing as butterflies in every detail of that multicolored paradise.
His eyes were those of a browser, and perhaps that found that enrollment of one of the stones:
Abdul Tareg, lived 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days
was a bit startled to realize that the stone was not merely a stone was a tombstone.
felt sorry to think that a child so young was buried in that place.
Looking around, the man realized that the stone next door also had an inscription. He went to read it. He said:
Yamir Kalibo, lived 5 years, 8 months and 3 weeks
felt Finder terribly shocked. That
beautiful place was a graveyard, each stone was a grave.
One by one, began reading the headstones.
All entries were similar: a name and the exact lifetime of the deceased.
But it connected with the terror that was to prove that he had lived longer exceeded only eleven years old ... Embargoed
a terrible pain, he sat down and began to mourn.
The caretaker of the cemetery was passing by and came over. He looked
mourn for a while in silence and then asked if he cried for a family member.
"No, no family," the search engine. What happens in this town? What terrible thing is in this city? Why are there so many dead children buried in this place? What is the horrible curse on these people, who have been forced to build a cemetery for children?
The old man smiled and said:
- Can you calm down. There is such a curse. What happens is that here is an old habit. I will tell ...:
"When a child turns fifteen, his parents give him a book like this that I have here, so hang it around his neck. It is a tradition among us that from then on, every time you enjoy something hard, open the book and write on it:
On the left, what was enjoyed.
Right, how long did the joy.
met his girlfriend and he loved it. How long was this huge passion and pleasure to meet you? A week? Two? "Three and a half weeks ...?
And then the excitement of the first kiss, first kiss wonderful pleasure ... How long? "The minute and a half of the kiss? "Two days? A week?
What pregnancy and birth of first child ...?
What about friends wedding?
And the most desired travel?
And the encounter with the brother who returns from a distant country?
How long did enjoy these situations?
"Hours? Days?
So, write down the book every time we enjoy ... Every time.
When someone dies, it is our custom to open your book and add it enjoyed time to write on his grave. Because this is for us the only real time spent. "
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