James was almost out of supplies, having brought enough for only a week. So, at first light he packed up and set off back toward civilization. He was not entirely sure he would return to his campsite. As much as he wanted to know more, he felt he had proven himself unworthy of the knowledge hidden in the jungle.

But a strange and wonderful thing happened while James was in town buying supplies. As he walked out to his truck with a boxful of groceries, two men followed him. Instinctively, James knew they meant to rob him.

Having no weapons on him, not being in the habit of carrying weapons, and being outnumbered anyway, he simply turned to face the men. Immediately, he felt the mysterious flame fill him with light and warmth, and he smiled, first to himself and then at the men. All was well; in fact, all was more than well. He could not explain why; it was just as plain as day to him, 'as simple as breathing'.

The men abruptly stopped, looked at him, returned an uncertain and somewhat befuddled smile, and then walked on past him, one murmuring something to the other that James couldn't quite hear. He put the groceries in the back of his truck and drove away.

He had not decided where to go from here. He could check back in to the little hotel where he'd spent the night on first arriving in the region. He could go sit on the beach, the ocean being his perennial go-to whenever he was feeling the need for peace and clarity. Or he could go back to his campsite and hope the little man would return and tell him more about the flame, maybe teach him how to use it — no; not use it. Wait; use it without directing it?  That sounded a bit more like it. Still so much to learn!

. . .

Without realizing he'd made up his mind, he found himself at the beach. As he sat on the sand, musing over the fact that, before this trip, he'd have felt the irresistible urge to go swimming, the men sat down beside him, one on either side. This time, though, they looked at him with a polite intensity that indicated their interest in knowing who he was and what he was doing there.

“You're a flame-keeper,” one said in Spanish, his surprise and delight evident on his face and in his voice.

James turned to him in surprise and said after an appraising pause, “Yes, I am.” He smiled to himself. Yes; I am. I really am!

He was beginning to see — and, more importantly, to feel, to experience in himself — what the guardians had said about not doing; just being. Not deliberately trying to direct the flame in any particular way; simply allowing it to expand and fill him, and from there inspire his actions.

Excitedly, the man said, “Teach me! I've been wanting to know how to become a flame-keeper ever since I saw one heal my grandmother.”

“Yes; me, too,” said the other man with equal fervor.

Now James was feeling a little overwhelmed, unequal to the challenge, as-yet unfit to share what he was still in the process of learning himself.

Throughout medical school and his surgical residency and pediatric fellowship, he'd heard the old chestnut, 'See one, do one, teach one.' He'd never liked that concept. He didn't want to be taught by someone who had done the procedure only once himself, and seen it done only the one time before that! No, he wanted to be taught by someone with extensive experience, and with the wisdom to be able to point out the pitfalls from having confronted them himself.

Slowly, he began to explain to the men that, while he was happy to share what he knew with them, he was still in the process of learning it himself. He went on to translate the 'See one…' adage into Spanish and explain his issues with it. He finished by conceding that, willing though he was, he didn't have very much to teach them. But they were not to be dissuaded.

Inwardly, James sighed. Without giving away the little man's location, he explained the best he could what the guardians had told him. The two men nodded seriously. It appeared to make more sense to them than it had at first to James. No, that's not quite right. He had instantly understood it all; it's just that he could not overcome the compulsion to look at all the ways he could go home and put it to good use. As soon as he'd shifted his focus from being to doing, his flame had dimmed.

Having experienced that himself, he gently cautioned the men not to try to use it for any particular purpose, and especially not to their own advantage. “It doesn't work like that,” he repeated. They nodded again, but slowly this time, perhaps a little disappointed that whatever benefits they could see to being a flame keeper might not be about to materialize after all.

. . .

That's all I can do for them, James thought as he got up, brushed the sand off his pants, and returned to his truck. He had now resolved to go back to the campsite and wait patiently for the little man to return and continue his education —or, rather, his de-education in the conventions of the society in which he'd been immersed since birth.

He noticed in the rearview mirror that the two men were following him at a distance in their own truck. But after awhile, as the paved road gave way to dirt and then became ever more narrow, tortuous, and rough, they turned around and disappeared.

James continued on, through the night, this time confident of his way, even in the dark, and he arrived at his campsite just before dawn. Ahhh; I'm home, he said to himself.

. . .

Copyright © Christine M. King, 2026. All rights reserved.

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