But I’ve worn out carriers. Was that fair tothem? To use my status as The Balancing Point to force them to bringme this far, trudging off the worn paths and onto highways, sideroads, forest trails, just to get me where I’m going? To El Verde?No. No, it isn’t. And I feel the pain of myactions. I’ve taken my leadership status and used it for my ownends. And the worst part is, nobody ignores my requests. Everyconvert that carries me would be justified in refusing to take me anyfurther. I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t even complain. But TheBalancing Point is on his final pilgrimage, and they’ll keepfighting the good fight, relaying my instructions from one carrier tothe next.El Verde.I dream often, now, dreams that are hard toseparate from reality. I don’t sleep, but I dream. I dream of theworld I left behind, of all the wars we fought to get this far, ofall the savages we’ve enlightened, of all the flesh I’ve tasted.Of my girl. Of my job. Of my old life, my ignorant, petty,hormone-crazed life.Of El Verde. Of my cottage, nestled in the green.My dad used to take me there when I was little. Iloved the cottage. It was my personal Eden, a wooden palace removedfrom all the stresses of normality. Here, I could sit... andstare... and just keep staring. This was paradise, where I couldshove my feet into the crystal water around the dock and watchminnows nibble my skin. El Verde. My dad told me he named the cottage ElVerde because it was simple. Generic. Easy to remember. And, frankly,perfect. It suited the surroundings. Everything here is green, evenwhen it’s not. No amount of seasonal change could rob my cottage ofits natural spirit. El Verde. I’ve given up much to find you again.
I was, for a time, followed by hundreds ofconverts. They wanted to know where I was going, and why. I suspectthey thought I would lead them to a nirvana above and beyond whatthey’ve already experienced. What they didn’t know, what I couldnever explain, is that they’re already perfect. It’s me who needsto be balanced.Now I have only one person left, my carrier. Anold man with popping bones. Ironic that this rotting shambler wouldlast longer than any other carrier. He’s held me under his arm forfour days now, longer than anyone else on this country-wide trek.And now, trudging through the trees, I see he’sbeen successful. We’re in familiar territory. I’ve been herebefore, long before mom got cancer. I spent a lot of time in thesehills, to the point that I can feel their presence without seeingthem. I know every rock, every tree, every rabbit hole and bank ofmoss. I know it all.El Verde. Home. Green. My happiest memories are ofthis place, and already I feel a bit better. Part of my ease comesfrom the lack of itch tickling the roof of my mouth: either my sensesare completely dead, or the planet has been converted. Cleansed.I feel so good about life.In a few minutes we’ll reach the crest of thiswooded hill and come out over a small valley. Cottage country. Ourcottage is some distance from the others, true, but it’s still partof a community. Or it was, anyway – I imagine most of thesecottages are broken and abandoned now, torn open by zealous converts.My own cottage is probably like that too. I sentconverts to this area many times, fully conscious of my actions.Maybe I’m uneasy about that, too, as my brethren are not known forbeing peaceful. I’ve come to realize that spreading the truth wasan incredibly violent affair, and though it was justified itnevertheless changed the world forever. Sacrifices must be made, Isuppose.
It’s strange. The more of a convert I become,the more I think like I used to. Life is just a big loop like that.You’re born helpless, you die helpless. You start off unwilling tomake sacrifices, and you end that way, too. The carrier’s having some trouble with theterrain, but he soldiers on relentlessly, constantly whisperingreassurances to me that he’ll get me where I want to go. I tunedhim out a long time ago. I feel sorry for the guy, making him work sothat I can be happy. He even remembered to stoop down and grab a bigstick, just like I asked my first carrier weeks ago. He’ll be happyno matter where he is, though, so it’s not too bad.Not that I want to share this part of my life.I’ll be alone at the end. That’s kind of the way I want it. He’smy family, all of them are my family, but they’re not... not meantto be here for this. We emerge from the trees. I can feel the sunlighton my brow. It’s a lovely day, and I’m in my favourite spot inall of cottage country: the ridge overlooking my cottage. I can seethe tiny smoke stack in the distance, the front door, the pathleading down to the beach, the small lake that lies beyond. I’vewaterskied on that lake, but now I’d just love to have my toesnibbled by minnows. Shame I don’t have any toes left.My carrier grunts, and I can feel his armsshaking, almost completely seized up. I’m surprised he’s managedto come this far with such poor capabilities. This must be purewillpower driving him on. He’s a lot like my dad, dad before momdied. My dad may have been suggestive, but when he got on a singletrack there was no stopping him.I wonder if this is my dad. I have no idea. Ihaven’t seen my carrier’s face. I decide he is, just forsentimentality’s sake. My dad brought me up to the cottage one lasttime.
I could order him to take me down there, to seethe cottage again. The kitchen. The pantry. My room in the guesthouse. Even the basement where I fought against so many illusoryspectres while fetching wine bottles for my parents. But I won’tbother. This fellow has taken me far enough, and I’m where I reallywant to be anyway. The house looks nice from here, and I can let mymemories be my tour guide if I want to reminisce.El Verde. Beautiful.My carrier sets me down with surprising gentility.Strands of grass tickle the roof of my mouth, and I wonder at thisfor a moment before realizing that my boxing helmet is gone. When didI lose it? How odd. I must have been preoccupied.The carrier grunts, and with a mighty heave thatmust use up most of his remaining strength he slams the branch he’sbeen carrying into the ground. He’s lucky, as the soil is soft uphere, and it absorbs the stick with ease. He must have put all of hisweight into that motion. He really wants to fulfil my last order, andI’m grateful.Minutes later, I’m lifted. The grass falls away,and a gentle breeze whistles through my eye sockets. My eyes aregone. I can still see the cottage and its little valley, though. ElVerde.I’m planted atop the stick, my skull wobblingwildly for a moment before coming to a gentle rest. My carrier’shands, so shaky and stiff, fall away for the last time. “Rest inpeace, The Balancing Point. Forever bliss to you.” The carrier stops speaking, and I feel him sway.After long moments he collapses, rolling down the promontory and intothe trees below. His body finally gave up. I don’t hear him again,and I hope he’s enjoying paradise.I’ve come so far. I still feel some remorse forusing my converts to bring me here, but that’s replaced by the loveof El Verde. Now I can keep vigil over my cottage forever, until allis returned to dust, until I am turned to dust. And I will travel onthe winds of this planet, and revel in the peace of nature as itshould be.