The wise sage ascended the slopes of San Francisco; their skin aged, their knees weak, but their gaze determined: What was another flight of stairs for one who had survived both war and famine many times over? A gentle fog surrounded them, slowly rolling in from the nearby bay, broken on occasion by beams of sunlight breaking through the endless rows of buildings. They neared their destination, an office atop Nob Hill, and surveyed the sign:
Doctor John Elvis, Psy. D, Third Floor.
A small sigh escaped their lips. More climbing. With determination, they let their thoughts return to peace, and began their ascent. A few moments later, they found themselves sitting in a waiting room, adorned with all the usual San Francisco antiquities: gentle paint, wooden floors, and mid-century furnishing. They sat and waited patiently for the therapist to arrive. As the clock ticked forward they reminded themselves: “The Tao does not strive, the Tao accepts all that comes, and it does not force its way.” As if on cue, a man appeared, clearly in his mid 40s, with kind eyes yet a fiery determination behind them.
“Welcome, please, come”, they gestured, and disappeared into their office.
The wise sage followed, curious to speak with the Sage of San Francisco they had heard so much about.
Moments later they were both seated. The sage sat upon a broad couch and surveyed the environment. Books adorned the walls and a bay window presented a view of the sprawling heights of San Francisco. A mirror sat opposite the door, and a few trinkets lay scattered across various surfaces. A simple desk sat in the corner with a silver laptop and a clock for all to view. Such time-based creatures, these therapists, thought the sage. Didn’t they know time was an illusion?
The thoughts of the sage were interrupted by the stare of the therapist. It was uncommon to find such unbroken eye contact anywhere, yet here it was, boring directly through the sage without apology, looking past years and searching for an obvious truth. Even the posture of the therapist was uncomfortably attentive: Legs crossed, arms resting gently on the armrests, neither hunched nor boasting. The sage swallowed and restored their own graceful composure.
“You have a beautiful office, do you have a favourite?”, they asked, gesturing around to the books.
The therapist smiled wryly and spoke directly:
“Oh the office is a rental, it’s meant to be a throwback to Freud, the books aren’t mine.”
The sage was taken aback by the blunt honesty. The therapist spoke again:
“So, how would you like to use our time today?”
The sage met the gaze of the therapist, kind, but uncompromising, then spoke with pride:
“I am here because I heard of a great sage in San Francisco and came to join in wisdom with you.”
The therapist continued to stare into the eyes of the sage.
“You came from, where, exactly?”
The sage felt their mouth becoming dry.
“I travelled far, from across the seas, it was a long journey.”
The therapist nodded and their lips pursed ever so slightly.
“And how does it feel to be here now?”, they asked dryly.
The sage smiled, cheeks rising high and eyes closed in contentment.
“Ah, the heart, it speaks in riddles and only when the mind is still.”
Without missing a beat the therapist responded:
“Speak to me in plain terms, then. What brings you here today? I could use some help knowing what it is you need.”
The sage became silent as a foreign feeling began to flood their mind: Irritation. They remained silent for several seconds as the therapist’s gaze remained upon them, eyes clear and attentive, genuinely seeking an answer. The sage returned their attention to their breath, noticing the gentle rise and fall of their chest, and searching for the peace that was unusually absent. Finally, to their relief, the therapist broke the silence.
“Can you tell me what is it you’re feeling right now?”, he asked with tender curiosity.
The sage gulped and leaned backwards into the embrace of the couch, happy to put a little distance between themselves and the therapist. They spoke with a somewhat exasperated but nonetheless lofty tone:
“I- I- I am not feeling anything in particular, feelings come and feelings go, just as the tide-”
They were unable to finish their sentence before the therapist interjected:
“No. Stop- Stop stop stop stop stop. I am aware that you have been using aphorism to dismiss your own feelings, to rationalise them away, and to disconnect from our session, but all you are doing is leaving the present moment and entering a fantasy.”
Both sat in silence for a few moments, their eyes locked in conflict, before the therapist continued:
“I’m not buying the wise sage charade, so tell me, why are you here?”
Upon hearing this the sage felt a deep indignation they had not felt since youth. This was no sage, this was a trap set by a charlatan. A heretic distorting the way for profit, a healthy profit at that, no less than 250 US dollars per hour (not that money was any object for one so enlightened). Yet, despite their frustration, another voice within them, a voice that had been suppressed for years, urged them to carry on. It sensed an opening and struck like a snake. The commotion far below the surface would take some time to rise though, and while it did, the sage spoke with vitriol:
“How dare you? I did not come all this way to be insulted. I am a great sage, I have mastered the way and found inner peace. I came here to share in peace with you and this is how you greet me?”
The therapist grinned as his face assumed the smile of a mid-western businessman who had just struck oil.
“Say more”, he said with curiosity and enthusiasm.
The sage was a little taken aback by the request but did not need to be prompted.
“You sit there with your fake books and your smile, you probe and you peck, looking for something. I can see it clearly; I’m no fool. You’re just like the rest of the unenlightened masses, except you have turned enlightenment into a game.”
The therapist, undeterred by the anger and seemingly amused, engaged further.
“That’s quite the accusation. Was it something I said?”, he asked with aloof amusement.
The sage gritted their teeth and curled their lip in contempt. A part of them knew their behaviour here was wrong, but they were unable to stop themselves. Something about this infuriating man was not just inviting these feelings, it was encouraging them, drawing them out, making them real. Was it the office, the friendly tone, the neat books and the sunlight streaming through the window? Was there something in the water, or was this just how things were in San Francisco? There was something ineffable at play here, was it-
The thoughts of the sage were interrupted from within, like a record skipping a track or a trolley car derailing, and they found themselves speaking without intention:
“I don’t know. But there is something about this that is just, off”, said the sage forcefully, the tranquil persona now in tatters. They leered directly into the eyes of the therapist, searching for confirmation of their indignation.
The therapist remained aloof, and they thought for a few moments. Their attention drifted through the window to the San Francisco bay, to the traffic and the Transamerica Pyramid, and to the sounds of a trolley car nearby. As their gaze returned to the sage, they spoke with a compassionate, but determined voice:
“First, let me say your anger is welcome here, and it’s very normal for patients to experience a sense of distrust when we first meet. I am aware that I’m very… direct… and I would like to believe it helps us with our work here. Moreover, while I don’t wish to play armchair psychologist, despite sitting in an armchair and being a psychologist, anger is sometimes a sign we’re headed towards repressed wants and needs, so I wonder if you have a desire that is not being met. Perhaps-”
The sage interrupted and spoke with conviction:
“Desire is the beginning of all suffering. The Buddh-”
The therapist interrupted right back with equal conviction:
“No. Desire is human.”
The two sat in silence for a few moments. The therapist watched carefully as the sage’s attention broke and drifted out the window.
“Desire is human…”, repeated the sage, in a small, curious voice, as if considering a new idea.
Their eyes came to rest on the floor, but their gaze turned inwards. The therapist watched with curiosity, looking beyond the surface as the circuits of their patient’s mind began to turn inwards. With an encouraging smile they asked:
“Is there something you desire? Perhaps, something you were never allowed to have when you were younger? Something you still aren’t permitted to have?”
The sage licked their lips and felt their body stiffen with nervousness. As their chest grew tight they wondered: What was this strange feeling? They tried to meet the therapist’s gaze but could not bear eye contact for more than a second. The two sat in silence for a few moments, before finally the sage spoke with a quiet, uncomfortable voice:
“It has been… a very long time, since I have felt the touch of another. I don’t even really recall how it feels to be held.”
The therapist’s smile broke but their compassion remained. Across their face spread a look not of pity, but of care, the smile of someone who just witnessed a child fall from their bike for the first time, eager to try once more. After a few moments they finally spoke with a tone that remained determined, but its sharp edge had been replaced with gentle ease:
“Well, it’s very normal for people in all stages in life to desire another; it’s… human”, he smiled encouragingly, “and craving the shared warmth we cannot give ourselves is almost universal. This isn’t a failure of your spiritual journey, or a sign of weakness; it’s just part of being human.”
The sage met the therapist’s eyes, and despite the unbearable weight of shame they carried, the thick dark fog it brought, and the sense of unease that filled them, they finally saw the compassion of the Sage sitting before them. It met them as sunlight through a dense fog, and they began to feel lighter. The therapist continued with a kind and gentle voice:
“As we come to a close, I want you to consider a task. After you leave here, I want you to walk through the streets of San Francisco, visit Haight Ashbury, visit Soma, and if you have time, walk through The Castro. You don’t have to interact with anyone, but I want you to notice what you enjoy, and what you desire. Create a mental list of all the people you find attractive, what they were wearing, or lack thereof, and what you enjoyed about their bodies. Bring it next time and we will reflect on it together. What’s critical here is giving yourself an opportunity to simply enjoy the human experience of attraction to another.”
The sage thought before speaking with exasperation and defeat:
“But I desire peace, I desire equanimity, I desire serenity. Earthly desires will simply distract.”
The therapist smiled kindly, and tilted their head in interest, before speaking a final time:
“That’s all well and good, and I commend your commitment to a higher purpose. I myself believe in heavenly father, but we’re here on earth now, aren’t we? We must enjoy it while we can, because we certainly aren’t here forever, and what is the point of life if not to experience a little joy on occasion. Now, I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of our time, so just be aware, my hours of operation are 9 to 5, Monday through Thursday, and I don’t bill insurance. Same time next week?”
The sage agreed, thanked the therapist, and rushed out the door. As they left, they felt a weight lifting: Finally, they could leave this room and get away from the man who made them look like a fool, yet as they walked down the narrow steps of the office and rejoined the streets of San Francisco, they felt a deep pain slowly fading. They looked back and saw the therapist sitting by the window, meditating with their eyes closed, and smiling with serenity. They felt a part of them lingering in the room, as if stuck to the couch, but felt it dissipating and evaporating as they turned away and began their journey back to the monastery.
Their knees thanked them as they boarded a trolley, having decided the slopes of San Francisco were a little too much excitement for such an eventful day. As the car slid down the slopes of Nob Hill, a bell rang and the carriage jostled while the Sage watched the passers by. They saw people going about their business dressed in all sorts of attire, from casual loungewear, to business suits, and occasionally, nothing at all. They saw men, they saw women, and they saw people who defied their categorisation. As they continued to look, without judgement or shame, they felt a smile spreading from ear to ear: Not a smile of deep wisdom or tranquil repose, but a simple smile for the beautiful flowers all around them. They felt their heart rush for the first time in many years, and in that moment felt gratitude, genuine gratitude, for their time with the Sage of San Francisco. Finally, they thought to themselves, some wisdom actually worth sharing. As the trolley car reached its terminus, they scoffed, shook their head, and muttered to themselves:
“How on earth am I going to bring this all back to my followers?”