There were three men, in the autumn of their lives, materialistically well-off, yet vacuous of purpose. They had spent enormous energy on sowing and then harvesting financial fortune but were haunted by nagging emptiness. A spirit of despondency began to possess them and they were looking pale and feeling languid. Confused amidst the ephemeral pleasures, a creeping realization that money doesn’t buy deep satisfaction or immortality evoked a collective desperateness.
One day they boldly decided to abjure their lifestyle and headed out toward the hills that led to the great woods. They were hoping for an epiphany or the revelation of inscrutable secrets.
Onward they plodded and the woods became more dense. They heard bizarre sounds, noticed diminishing light, and their heads began to spin. Their minds offered up incessant chatter of doubts. As fatigue set in, the doubts became intense and enervated their will and determination.
Supplies running low, and energy evaporating, they glimpsed a small clearing in the woods. They agreed to rest there and then begin the long trek back. They sat on a decaying log and began to doze. The men soon entered the twilight between awake and sleep, between real and surreal. Noticeable to them, a mysterious rumble emanated from the distant treetops and reverberated closer. “Whatever will be will be” echoed in their half-awake state as they already had given up all hope.
In that instant, three hawks in perfect formation soared not even ten feet over their frozen heads and disappeared into the woods on the other side of the clearing.
What happened next is the subject of mythology or conjecture. The world looked different. Everything seemed connected and universal, from the tiniest ants to the expanse of the sky. Not a word was uttered. A sense of be-ing, or wisdom perhaps was transmitted. At peace, the three men returned home in silence. Not understanding how or what happened didn’t seem to matter. That was all part of it too.