Way of the Peaceful Warrior by Dan Millman Read Free Book Online

everyone.”  
    Taking advantage of his affability, I blurted out, “Socrates, my life no longer makes sense. Nothing works, except when I'm in the gym. Aren't you supposed to make things better for me? I thought that's what a teacher did.”  
    He started to speak, but I interrupted.  
    “And another thing. I've always believed that we have to find our own paths in life. No one can tell another how to live.”  
    Socrates slapped his forehead with his palm, then looked upward in resignation. “I am part of your path, baboon. And I didn't exactly rob you from the cradle and lock you up here, you know. You can take off whenever you like.” He walked to the door and held it open.  
    Just then, a black limousine pulled into the station, and Soc affected a British accent: “Your car is ready, sir.” Disoriented, I actually thought we were going on a trip in the limousine. I mean, why not? So, befuddled, I walked straight out to the limo and started to climb into the back seat. I found myself staring into the wrinkled old face of a little man, sitting with his arm around a girl of about sixteen, probably off the streets of Berkeley. He stared at me like a hostile lizard.  
    Soc's hand grabbed me by the back of my sweater and dragged me out of the car. Closing the door, he apologized: “Excuse my young friend. He's never been in a beautiful car like this and just got carried away--didn't you, Jack?”  
    I nodded dumbly. “What's going on?” I whispered fiercely out of the side of my mouth. But he was already washing the windows. When the car pulled away, I flushed with embarrassment. “Why didn't you stop me, Socrates?”  
    “Frankly, it was pretty funny. I hadn't realized you could be so gullible.”  
    We stood there, in the middle of the night, staring each other down. Socrates grinned as I clenched my teeth, I was getting angry. “I'm really tired of playing the fool around you!” I yelled.  
    “Well, you have to admit that you've been practicing the role so diligently, you've got it nearly perfect.” I wheeled around, kicked the trash can, and stomped back toward the office. Then it occurred to me. “Why did you call me Jack, awhile ago?”  
    “Short for jackass,” he said, passing me.  
    “All right, god damn it,” I said as I ran by him to enter the office. “Let's go on your journey. Whatever you want to give, I can take!”  
    “Well, now. This is a new side of you spunky Danny.”  
    “Spunky or not, I'm no flunky. Now tell me, where are we headed? Where am I headed? I should be in control, not you!”  
    Socrates took a deep breath. “Dan, I can't tell you anything. Much of a warrior's path is subtle, invisible to the uninitiated. For now, I have been showing you what a warrior is not by showing you your own mind. You can come to understand that soon enough--and so I must take you on a journey. Come with me.”  
    He led me to a cubbyhole I hadn't noticed before, hidden behind the racks of tools in the garage and furnished with a small rug and a heavy straight-backed chair. The predominant color of the nook was grey. My stomach felt queasy.  
    “Sit down,” he said gently.  
    “Not until you explain what this is all about.” I crossed my arms over my chest.  
    Now it was his turn to explode. “I am a warrior; you are a baboon. I will not explain a damn thing. Now shut up and sit down or go back to your gymnastics spotlight and forget you ever knew me!”  
    “You're not kidding, are you?”  
    “No, I am not kidding.” I hesitated a second, then sat.  
    Socrates reached into a drawer, took out some long pieces of cotton cloth, and began to tie me to the chair.  
    “What are you going to do, torture me?” I half-joked.  
    “No, now please be silent,” he said, tying the last strip around my waist and behind the chair, like an airline seat-belt.  
    “Are we going flying, Soc?” I asked nervously.  
    “In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, kneeling in