I met him during a stay in a buddhist village along the border of Tibet. He possessed a composure befitting a saint and when he began to preach to a set of followers, his words struck me like a thunderbolt. He said
‘There are some men, whose curse is to be different from the rest. Among thinkers, they see only a lack of practicality; among men of action, they mourn the absence of thought. When they are at one extreme, they yearn for the other side. Such men are habitually alone, unloved by most others, incapable of making a friend, since to make a friend is to accept the other person’s thinking. But it may not be such a curse to be alone; wisdom is rarely found in crowds.’
I knew he was talking about me, I had seen that look in his eyes and the glazed expression on his face when our eyes met. He told me I was an angel of death. The reverberations remain rooted within me to this day.