When she’d set out, she didn’t expect to find him. She took the words of the naysayers to heart, secreted their doubts and carried them with her into the forest. She had to try though. To do otherwise would be to wait for old age to claim what little remained of her spirit.

“He’s a myth, you know?” was the last thing her husband had said to her. No words of encouragement, no offer of company or support. He’d turned away and left her in silence. She’d walked away from everything she’d ever known, alone.

She knew of the hermit from legends and folk tales. The only people who saw him anymore were drunks and those touched by the moon. She never drank, so she knew where the townsfolk had classified her. She didn’t care. She could feel the tendrils of age already creeping beneath her skin. If she waited or doubted she would die wondering what if – the greatest sin of all.

The forest was dense, but there were paths that wound through its trunks. Dim and dappled sunlight splashed through from above, like stars on a cloudy night. Everything beneath the canopy of green was subdued. There were no forest sounds here; no birdsong, no scurrying of mice, or chattering of squirrels. The only sound was made by the leather soles of her boots as leaves and pine needles crackled beneath them.

She held her question in her heart and let it guide her, let it be her strength. She hadn’t found the answer outside of the forest, so she knew it must lie here, with the hermit.

Hours passed and the forest remained. She walked without direction but with hope. If she were to be lost here and perish in the woods, then that would be her fate – her question would be answered with her passing. She knew she was a fool; that she’d been led by fairy tales and myth, but she didn’t care – better to die in search of the truth than to lie down and die with a lie.

“Why have you come?” A voice whispered from behind her.

She spun and there he was – wrinkled and knotted as the willow staff he leaned upon. The doubts unlocked themselves from her heart and fled. His billowing cloak served only to detail his thin frame. A wisp of white beard escaped the darkness beneath his hood.

“I seek the hermit,” she said, her voice clear in the silence.

“And you have found him.”

They stood facing each other. The forest held its breath.

“I have a question,” she said.

“You always have questions,” he said.

“But I have no answers.”

She could not see his smile beneath the hood, but she could feel it. Her cheeks burned.

The hermit pulled back his hood. A cloth was tied over his eyes, and a ragged scar jutted from beneath it.

“What happened?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Is that your question?”

This time she saw his smile, and her flush deepened. His teeth were perfect and laughter sparkled in their shine. The glossy whiteness seemed foreign in his wrinkled face – like ivory in driftwood.

“N, no,” she stammered.

This time he did laugh – dappled sunlight flared with the sound.

“It matters not,” he said. “I don’t have the answer you seek.”

“But I have not asked yet,” she said.

“You don’t need to. I cannot give you an answer.”

“But…”

“I cannot offer what I do not possess. I can only answer your first question. What happened?”

Her mouth hung open, words would not come. Tears filled her eyes and quivered above her lashes.

“I lost my eyes so that I could see,” he said.

She fought the tears and strained her ears to hear his words.

“I had questions of my own,” he said. “I asked them everywhere and received answers aplenty, but none were correct. They all fell short of the truth I felt in my heart. You feel it too, that is what brought you here.”

She nodded, her eyes shone with unshed sorrow.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Close them.”

She closed her eyes and pushed the tears onto her cheeks. They traced a pair of tracks to her chin where they hung and cooled.

“Listen only to the silence,” the hermit said. “Throughout your life, you have been assaulted by your senses. There is too much to see, too much to hear and taste and touch. It overwhelms your own voice, the truth of your heart. I cannot offer you any answers because they are waiting inside of you. All you need to do is listen.”

She listened, and found only the beating of her own heart.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said. “Forget about color and texture and sound. Forget about the world around you. Forget about everything except the beating of your heart. Do you hear that sound?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Listen to that rhythm. It has never been heard on this earth before you, and its song will cease when you are no more. You are infinite crafted from the finite. This collection of matter, this assemblage of cells and atoms has never before graced this earth… and it never will again. Listen for that voice inside. The one that speaks only to you, for it is the only source of your truth.”

She did listen. To the blood in her ears, the pulse of the muscle that began beating before there was air for her to breathe, before she had lungs or breath she had a pulse. She poured herself into the sound, became it and felt herself thrum within her own chest. Her ears were lost, her eyes and body forgotten as she coursed through herself.

“This is me,” she thought. “I am here. There is only one me.”

The hermit’s voice reached her, filled the sound that she had become.

“There is a finite amount of matter in this world. Everything is recycled and used again. You have been part of a sun, a tree, a man, and a fish. You have been a part of everything as everything has been a part of you. But this, this you, this here and this now… this will never happen again. Pay attention while it lasts. That is your duty. That is your truth.”

Her eyes snapped open. The world forced itself back into her vision, greedy to be seen.

She was alone. The hermit was gone. Her tears, cool upon her chin, released their hold and fell to the forest floor.

“I am me,” she said, and smiled.