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Simple. And then he'd wait without a word for whatever I had to answer.
I would have said to that, if he were here I would have said, "OK. Flying over horizons is not the way. I give up. 'Tell me. How do I find her?"
He'd narrow his eyes, annoyed I'd ask him instead of myself.
"Are you happy? Are you doing, this moment, exactly what you most want to do in the world?"
Habit would have answered of course I am, of course I'm running toy life just the way I please.
Came the cold of tonight, however, the same question from him, and something had changed. Am I doing this moment what I most want to do?
"No!"
"What a surprise!" Shimoda would have said. "What do you suppose that could mean?"
I blinked, left off imagining and spoke aloud. "Why, it means I'm done barnstorming! This moment I'm looking into my last campfire; the kid from Russell at dusk, he was the last passenger I'll ever fly!"
I tried saying it again: "I'm done
barnstorming."
Slow quiet shock. A buzz of questions.
For a moment I tasted my new ignorance, shifted it on my tongue. What am I to do? Whatever will become of me?
After the job security of barnstorming, a surprise new pleasure broke and surged over me ike a cool breaker from far deeps. I didn't know what I'd do!
When one door closes, they say, mother opens. I can see the door just shut, it's got BARNSTORMING lettered on it and behind are crates and boxes of idventures that changed me from who I was into who I am. And now it's time to move on. Where's the door just oppned?
If I were an advanced soul right now, I thought, not Shimoda but an advanced me, what would I say to me?
A moment passed, and I knew what I'd say: "Look at everything around you this moment, Richard, and ask, 'What is wrong with this picture?' "
I looked around me in the dark. The sky wasn't wrong. What can be wrong with stars exploding diamonds a thousand light-years overhead, and me looking out at the fireworks from a safe place? What's wrong with an airplane so rugged and faithful as the Fleet, ready to take off for anywhere I wish? Nothing wrong.
What's wrong with the picture is this: She isn't with me! And I'm going to do something to change that now!
Slowly, Richard, I thought. Be uncharacteristic this one time; please not so fast! Please. Think, first. Carefully.
And sure enough. There was another question in the dark, one I had not asked Donald Shimoda, one he'd not answered.
Why should it be that the most advanced of people, whose teachings, twisted into religions, last for centuries, why should it be that they have always been alone?
Why never do we see radiant wives or husbands or miraculous equals with whom they share their adventures and their love? They're surrounded by their disciples and their curious, these few we so admire, they're pressed by those who come to them for healing and light. But how often do we find their soulmates, glorious and powerful beloveds right close by? Sometimes? Once in a while?
I swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
Never.
The most advanced people, I thought, they're the ones most alone!
The sky turned slow frosty clockworks overhead, uncaring.
Do these perfect ones not have soulmates because they've grown beyond human needs?
No answer from blue Vega, shimmering in her harp of stars.
Attained perfection would not be my problem for a whole lot of lifetimes, but these people are supposed to show us the way. Have they said forget about soulmates because soulmates don't exist?
