Cloak of a Workman, Mind of a philosopher.

 

Jean-Pierre was along the way, on a jaunt to perhaps the Prefecture, in his workman's cloak, muttering something indistinguishable to himself.  I thought it was as if demons had possessed him making guteral hell noises back and forth in the space between his menial soul and the firmament.

I went back to my hoeing beans and then sat in the sun, when along came Jean-Pierre back from the Prefecture.  I had been an irregular sort of Thoreau, tending at my little patch of beans.

This time I stopped him.

"What do you know of the Way of Heaven?" I polled him, seriously.

"Oh, Confuseus.  Always go after what you want.  Do not relent." He said.

I pondered this a moment, and considered he may actually be possessed of some demonic spirit at that moment, some devilry at the palace, and all--an intrigue of some sort.

"Do not relent in the pursuit of my want?" I asked.

"Do not relent, good Confuseus.  Else you are not moving towards your desires, but just sitting, idly staring."  With that, he was making steps away, as if to go ahead and just walk away along the way.  I put a thumb to my chin and and looked at the heavens a few minutes, and when I looked up he was gone.