Ojor

In the Library where I Attila love to spend most of my time experience things that I've only did when my father used to read children tales to me and my sister. We were completely lost within these stories and we didn't bother about our father falling deep into sleep while reading, we just shook him up to continue. I was always wondering even as a child if my father ever loved us at all. But now as an adult as I struggled with life up to about two years ago, I finally realized that yes he loved us, he was just too busy to provide for us. As he took us to never lands and fairy kingdoms by those books, that's how I fall into Lars's Memoirs. Sometimes Lars takes me to other places as well not only into his conscious evolutional diary, Yesterday he took me into a very ancient story of Ojor. In this reading I was Ojor I felt as Ojor, and I thought like Ojor. While I'm doing the reading I do check on the interconnected internet for information and I find the most fascinating secrets that are not only backing up the experience readings but also explain many things about Human nature ergo about my nature to me.
Ojor stood still in the middle of the sandy desert, surrounded by blue hills in the distance. He has never been free in his life, so the concept of freedom didn't mean anything to him. How could a slave be free while he is a slave? It's simple if someone doesn't know that there is another type of life for him as a human that someone will not think about his existence as good or bad. But once that someone tasted awakening into a different level of consciousness, that someone will know what slavery really is. As Ojor stood in the middle of the desert he started to recall the happenings of the last few days.
His family as he has thought about the place where he has got away from had a lot of problems. There were although only 12 slaves including Ojor, the masters couldn't stay where they have lived before. Ojor spoke their language fluently, but didn't belong to their race. His skin was much lighter than the masters or the other slaves. He wasn't black but wasn't creamy either. His skin had a somewhat golden tone to it. His head was more refined and his humbleness was mixed with ancient intelligence, which no one knows where it has come from. They have bought him on the market although he didn't have the strongest body, but still looked healthy and powerful enough for at least to carry water to the other slaves on the fields. The slave keeping culture in this area was brought here by a north eastern civilization. Ojor doesn't know whom those Gods might have been, because the masters interwoven their mysticism and secrecy with their own ego and royal descendent stories. Ojor was at about 47 years old. He has figured this out by himself adding the probable years from his first day at this family up to today. He neither remembered his mother or father. Very fadedly he has recalled that his mother was very light, light like those coming from the northeast.
Ojor now was thinking about his sack like robes and his very bad looking sandals he has created for himself and for the other slaves to protect their feet while crossing from the main house to the farmlands. He surely will not like the nights to come, where the ground sometimes gather frost by the morning. He looked back how the family has got into debt deeper and deeper up to the point where they sold the other slaves one by one. Ojor was the last one, they loved him the most. He was always there supplying them with wisdom and water. When someone needed water all they did is yell, "Ojor!" and he was there in a mysterious moment. Ojor has developed a special calculation where he carefully taken into account everyone's need for water, the amount they favored in the heat season and the amount in the colder seasons. He was loved and necessary. One day the whole family went out for a long walk into the rocky deserted area. Ojor has carried their water. He didn't understand why they go to this unnecessary trip. He humbly has carried the water jugs and the bowls and the rest. By mid afternoon they have stopped.
Now Ojor's eyes filled up with tears as he remembered the last time he looked into his masters eyes. Master stopped with his camel and he has halted the rest of the family. He turned to Ojor and asked for water. Ojor quickly filled up the bowls and served to the rest of the family after master drank his share. Now the master has commanded Ojor to fill up the jugs with water and put the bowls and the big containers on the camel's back. Ojor was surprised, since master has never carried anything with his favorite camel before. Then the master has turned to his son and direly like a man that fights his tears barked out a command. "Son, from now on you will serve us water."
Ojor was ready to protest when the master's loving eyes interlocked with his. "Ojor, you are free. Take these three jugs of water and try to cross these dry lands. No one will recapture you and take you as a slave again. Go south. No one knows what's down there and the slave marketers are not interested in those areas. Now go!"
Ojor has looked after the small caravan until they've disappeared into the horizon, and then he fell into the desert's silence. He was hurting. He didn't understand this feeling. He has never been alone, he had a family, and he was safe. What is freedom? All these thoughts were swirling in his head and he just stood there for hours. The sun went down. He was hoping that the master will change his mind, and will come back, and will say that everything is all right. He can go back to his small shackle where he will die like Copra his old dog, he had since his childhood. No one came of course. Ojor was afraid of all the scorpions and snakes and insects and all the other unknown desert animals. He has never had to sleep alone so far from other human beings. He could have been in another planet as far as we are concerned. No sound of snoring of the other lively slaves, no moaning from Rune the beautiful slave girl and Kobo the strongest and darkest skinned slave's love making.
He didn't sleep all night. He has finally figured it out what happened. The family didn't want to sell him, from out of pure love, so they gave him another chance. He had water he had a sandal, and he had 47 years. He wasn't too old looking, although he has never known a woman, he was still desirable by other slave girls. His face was very beautiful actually, and his body had very interesting muscle tones to them. And now as he looked towards the south and towards those distant mountains he started to understand. This feeling, this slowly creeping intoxication from his stomach up towards his head, this ambivalent joy that comes from the possession of the knowledge and possession of the fact of freedom finally has reached his mind. He was free. What does this freedom means? He has compared his life to his master's life and he slowly was able to understand. He can choose now, when where, why, how, and what, and no one ever has the right to tell him not to. Now he has remembered the whip. When he was a child he was kind of slow at first to understand what is required of him to do as a slave, since naturally he was free within, but he couldn't act free. He now realized that he has to remember that child whom he was, and those feelings of wants. It was difficult, because he was a slave and wants and slave doesn't really compare very well.
He has picked up the jugs and has started on his way towards the south. He didn't know what lies beyond the horizon. Of course he has heard stories of wild tribes and forest, and jungles, and wide rivers, and huge uncultivated lands, but they were all stories. The family didn't have too much to do with the city folks other than to trade their harvest for other goods, up until the 6 years of drought has hit the small river and its farmlands. Farming has become impossible from then on.
Some years has passed in the reading. Now I can see Ojor's memories as he is sitting front of his tent and watching his wife and many of his grandchildren play along the river. His first son is as strong and as black as the night, but his daughters has inherited his light skin which makes them very high valued within the area and with other families. Although Ojor is eighty some years old he is still looks very healthy and strong. The long journey from the north strengthened him and revitalized him in such ways that he has never thought could be possible. He has met with many tribes, many cultures, and many women on his way to home, where he belongs now and the most respected elder in the gatherings. His ability to learn languages surprised him the most. Of course the languages of all tribes sounded very similar therefore he only had to adjust to their dialect.
He has settled near water with his pregnant wife and he has showed his family how to farm, how to use the most precious thing, water. The other elders of the gathering simply called his domain the place where Ojor lives. Later it has become Ojor. It doesn't show anywhere else in the area, no other man was named Ojor ever after, but The Place of Ojor remained Ojor.
Where did Ojor's name come from? Probably from his mother, the light skinned woman. But where did she come from is a mystery.

The story of Ojor has fascinated me the most. Through those readings I took that day. It was the most interesting story of freedom. The freedom we have to learn to live with once we posses it. It isn't easy at first, because most people turn on their masters and as rage takes over them they will become slaves again, slaves of anger and hate. But to determine yourself and concentrate on the now, the today will bring you unlimited wisdom and prosperity, so others can benefit from your rightfully gained freedom. Teach others how to be free, with wisdom, and not hate.