Transcendence 101

Steve Lucent burst across the starting line at the sound of the gun like a madman. He drove his toes into track with the fury of an animal. But to the spectators in the stadium, his tall, athletic frame and his long blonde hair flying in the wind without hiding his handsome face, Lucent seemed very much like the ideal man.

Behind him, a swarm of the fastest runners in the world pursued him. Lucent's speed was unmatchable and he had no trouble leaving them behind.

But his mind didn't wander from the race and his pace didn't ease. He ran the whole three mile race at a blistering pace, actually lapping the other runners once. As he gracefully floated over the finishing line, the crowd burst into applause. Out of the chaotic noise came a chant, "Lucent, Lucent, Lucent, Lucent."

The stadium at Hayward Field was packed with spectators who had come to see only one man; Lucent. In previous years, before Lucent, track meets had rarely attracted crowds. But he had transformed distance running into a blood sport and his fans were multitude.

As the other runners came through the finish line, a message was quickly working its way through the crowd: Lucent had just broken the world record for the three mile.

The crowd was ecstatic. It poured onto the track, triumphant. The people shared Lucent's victory. He himself was busy signing autographs. But after five minutes, he saw that the crowd was too thirsty for his autograph and he walked away. He got into his flashy gold GM and sped away.

"Wow!" he thought, "the world record."

He drove a little ways out of town to his trailer. The home of the greatest runner in the world was a ratty white trailer in a mobile home park. He ate on food stamps.

But inside the trailer was a prize more valuable than the world's largest diamond; his girlfriend. Sarah Lamb was the daughter of a rich Eugene family. She was tall and lithe with a well developed figure and an aristocratic face.

He went inside, told her what had happened. She jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around him. "You're the man", she said in a simple way. They showered together and an hour later he emerged from the trailer with a tie-dye shirt, ripped jeans and a fancy pair of new running shoes. However casually he dressed, he was always careful to take good care of his feet.

He drove along a long winding, shady forest road and pulled into an isolated pull-out. Then he ran along a narrow, overgrown forest path until he arrived at a tall rock which he climbed onto. He called this place, "Bull Rock."

It was where he went after his greatest triumphs. For an hour or so, he meditated. He felt so at peace with the forest and with himself. He no longer cared what happened to him or the world. He was satisfied.

Then he stood up and beat his chest furiously and gave out a roar. He was a man who was very much in touch with his primitive nature. In his hand, he held a pot pipe. Behind the rock was a large pot plant. He pulled off some of the most luscious green buds and filled the pipe with them. He smoked quietly and serenely.

"I'm the Buddha; are you the Buddha?" he asked his pipe playfully. "No? You're not the Buddha? Are you the caterpillar? I'm the caterpillar. Are you the pot plant?" He listened to his pipe for a few minutes.

"Oh, I see," he said. He contemplated what the pipe had told him while he smoked another bowl.

Then he ran back to his car and drove to a party deeper in the forest. The party was packed with beautiful girls and other track athletes. The meet he had run earlier in the day was a meet between the University of Oregon Track Team and the Danish Track Team. Thus, there were many Danes at the party, including some beautiful blonde girls who caught Steve's eye.

Now I'm going to have to tell you something that might cause you to think poorly of our hero. By mutual arrangement, Steve's girlfriend didn't go to parties with him. Why? Steve slept with a lot of other girls. Sarah Lamb knew about this and didn't like it but felt there was nothing she could do about it. Steve was unwilling to change and she couldn't consider leaving him.

And so the night went on. Things happened that were fascinating to those who participated in them but would be boring and vulgar in a short story. The only thing of any importance that happened at the party was that Steve got drunk.

Finally, he stood up to leave and the whole party quieted and gathered around him.

"I'd like to thank our Danish friends from coming and participating in the meet. Something special happened to day. When I went to the Olympics in Munich, things didn't work out. I'd always dreamed of going to Munich and winning the gold medal. But things didn't work out and it just wasn't how it was supposed to be."

"But today was the greatest day of my life. The meet today was how Munich was supposed to be. Thank you for sharing it with me and remember.....you're the Buddha."

With that, he walked out of the party and got into his gold GM. He was drunk but he was also very intelligent. He drove slowly and paid careful attention to the road. The road was windy and dark. Steve was thinking about the Bhudda and what it would have been like to meet him.

And then, another Gold GM came around the corner and veered into Steve's lane. Even with his dulled reflexes, he managed to swerve and miss the car but he hit the wall to his right and his car flipped. He wasn't wearing his seat belt and he fell out of his roofless car and then the steel landed on him, crushing that beautiful lower body that had won so many races. Pinned beneath the Gold GM, he struggled furiously to escape. The other car sped off into the night unhurt.

Of all the things that happen under the sun, there is perhaps nothing so glorious as the death of a hero. Steve bit and gouged the metal wreck that held him down. He spit on it.

"Are you the Buddha; I'm the Buddha!" he screamed. For about five minutes he struggled under the metal wreck, his ravings get louder and angrier. Blood was pouring out of his legs and he could feel it.

A surge of strength came over him. He grabbed the grill on the front and car and lifted the front of the car off the ground. With graceful agility, he swung his bloody legs out from under the car. He tried to rise to his feet to walk toward home but his legs were too crushed to walk on.

Silently, he prayed for a car to come along and save him. But it was a lonely forest road and several minutes passed without a car coming to save him.

In his life, Steve Lucent had been known for his guts. And now, in the face of death, he got up on his muscular arms and pulled himself alongside the road toward home. He moved along at a blistering pace. all along praying for a car to come and save him.

But none came and the path from his car was painted with his noble, vital blood. Having no more strength in his arms, he collapsed. Still, he kept his eyes up, focused on the road, looking for a car; looking for a savior. And finally one came. It was a shoddy, sky blue Volks-wagon Bug that seemed very familiar to Steve.

A fat old East Indian man got out of the bug and walked over to Steve. Steve was behind talking. He simply looked at the man with hopeless, beautiful blue eyes. He knew it was too late for him.

But the East Indian said, "Is that you Steve?" Steve couldn't answer. "I'm so sorry. But get up now; there's no time to rest."

And Steve, much to his amazement, got up. He realized that he had left his body. He looked back at it. It lay alongside the road. His body's face was in the gravel, his long blonde hair covered his head like a mop. His long legs and brand new running shoes were soaked with blood that was rapidly clotting.

Lucent, the spirit, couldn't have cared less about his body. He just looked at the East Indian man and said, "Are you the Buddha? I'm the Buddha."

The Buddha gave Steve a compassionate smile and said, "Yes, Steve; I'm the Buddha." And the two got into the sky blue car and drove deeper into the wild, unexplored forest.