Some lessons take take a long time to learn.
I took Induction to Non-Western Religions during my first semester of college in 1988. Here’s the description from the course catalog:
An introduction to the study of non-Western religious traditions in south and east Asia (Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, and Shinto). Open to everyone but especially appropriate for first and second year students. Fall semester.1
James W. Laine, Ph.D., was our professor.

I have three memories of the course. First, our classroom was in Old Main, a gorgeous stone building dating back to 1889. It looked and felt like college in the movies.
Second, one of my classmates was a Theravada Buddhist monk — shaved head, orange robe, sandals — from Sri Lanka. Dr. Laine would banter with him in another language (Sinhala? Pali?) during class.
The third and most important memory is a lesson that took decades for me to internalize. This is part of an e-mail that I sent to Dr. Laine in June 2020:
I remember bits and pieces [of the course] including a parable that you shared during class. The details are probably distorted by time, but it involved someone escaping a tiger and a cliff. The person, despite great personal peril, was able to pause to enjoy some succulent berries growing on the side of the cliff.
Dr. Laine helpfully replied:
The story you allude to has many versions and interpretations. Tolstoy learned of it from the Tale of Barlaam and Josaphat, a medieval Christian tale whose origins are in fact Buddhist (Josaphat being a garbled version of bodhisattva). Gandhi, I believe, learned the tale from Tolstoy. So a Buddhist tale went west, turned north and came back east. Who knows, maybe Gandhi passed it on to Martin Luther King or Mandela or Cesar Chavez, all of whom he influenced.
With that lead, I was able to track down this version of the parable:
A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!2
This parable wound up being the most important thing that I learned in college, although I didn’t know it at the time. It took years of subsequent seeking and suffering for it to become lived experience.
There is just the eternal now. The tigers of the past and future are memories and imagination:
Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now.
Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now.
What you think of as the past is a memory trace, stored in the mind, of a former Now. When you remember the past, you reactivate a memory trace—and you do so now. The future is an imagined Now, a projection of the mind.3
Be here now. ✸
- 1988/90 Catalog. St. Paul, MN: Macalester College, 1988, p. 159
- Paul Reps. Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. Rutland, VT: Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1957, pp. 28–29
- Eckhart Tolle. The Power of Now. Vancouver: Namaste Publishing, 1997, pp. 41–42
Endnote. Be Here Now, which was published in 1971, consolidated these earlier materials into a single volume.









