Over the next few days I came to know Thomas much better. Although he was but five-foot-seven and a hundred and twenty-five pounds, he seemed a much larger man. Everyone around him, including the vagabonds who continually passed through his home, looked up to him for guidance and entertainment. He carried himself with what was, to me, a spaced-out self-assurance. At times his eyes bulged out of their sockets; they were always scanning, perceiving. He looked people directly in the eye. His countenance, whether in thought, action, or speech, showed a continual activity of the brain. His forehead was lined with small wrinkles, not from age but from perpetual ponderance. He had that characteristic common to all thinkers: absentmindedness. It was hard to believe his business was not failing. It seemed he lost everything he touched. But this did not bother Thomas. He was, in fact, amused by it.

His body was one of the most flexible I had ever seen. His bones seemed made of rubber. He was more comfortable sitting on his haunches, feet flat on the ground, chin rested on his knees, than in an upright chair. When on the floor playing Karumbo -- an Afghan game of skill that resembled a combination of billiards and marbles and was played on a board with chips to be flicked by the player's fingers into corner pockets -- his legs were flat on the floor, his feet pointed outward at right angles, and his head perched forward to see things as closely as possible. In this position he looked like a simian on all fours.

One evening Thomas invited me upstairs to smoke a pipe, play some Karumbo, and visit. Our conversation turned to various philosophies of life. I felt a bit like an inexperienced student listening to the pleasant lecturing of a wise, old savant. An outpouring of words flowed from Thomas's mouth. His speech was a gentle expression without pause. I had the feeling there was so much inside Thomas, such an abundance of knowledge and energy, that it was to my detriment to interrupt him. I listened intently. He spoke of smuggling experiences and adventures in distant lands, his life in California with the people surrounding the Jefferson Airplane rock band, his years of study of the languages and art of the Near East, his trips to the remotest regions of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iran in search of rare carpets. He spoke of his dreams of international brotherhood, freedom, adventure, and his need to stay in touch with people who had not lost their dreams.

Hasan entered the room with Carol, an American woman in her late twenties who was staying at Thomas's and would travel as far as Yugoslavia with Hasan and me. They sat on the floor and joined in the conversation. The topic returned to smuggling. Hasan expressed a distaste, the risk being too great for committing a crime that brought harm to other people.

Thomas continued, "When you are looking at a man who brings a little hashish with him across the border, you fail to see the other side of the circle. Is his crime any worse than that of the men living comfortably at the expense of others? of their pain? of their suffering? of their low wages? Is his crime any worse than that of the men who -- with their factories that are killing plant life, animal life, even human life -- make chemicals for next to nothing and then sell them for unreasonable profits? And not just chemicals, but all products.

"Every man has his vices. Every man has the criminal element in him. To those making money, the making of it is just as much a drug as the hashish is to the common man who needs to escape the misery of his life from time to time. Of course, hashish is like any other sensual aspect of life. If taken to excess, it does more harm than good. The important thing is to remain unattached to it, as the moneymaker must remain unattached to his drug. If one is attached to anything in life, he cannot fulfill himself spiritually. This is the truth of life, the inner life. Life is a series of interrelated circles. One must experience a little of each circle, each change, so to speak, in order to make a complete circle at the passing of one's life. It is important not to be hung up on any one circle, for it inhibits the inner life, the spiritual, from growing to a newer and wiser circle. One must be open to change, ready for change, as change means growth of the spirit, a coming closer to the whole. When we are born, we are totally free. Our soul is all-being, everlasting, eternal life in relation with the whole of life, of energy and forces beyond our comprehension. We all have this eternal life. Each person is just at a different stage of development in the attaining of the whole or eternally wise life. When we are born, we are like the fresh seed thrown to the soil, free of all outer influences, and then with the cultivation of environments and outside forces a covering envelops us. It is only the casting away of these outer skins, these programmed modes of thought, of behavior, of relationships, that we can attain any freedom or wisdom. We must develop the inner search. The wealthy men of the world are more shackled than most of the world's prisoners. Indeed, they are prisoners of their own possessions. It is very difficult to move to the next circle in one's life when one is bound in such a way.

"Of course, you may tell me to look at myself. Am I not attached to my own possessions and business? Do I not live comfortably and have a fair amount of money? And I say yes it is true that I have money and possessions, but in reality I am not attached to them. It would be just as easy to live in Afghanistan in a remote village as here. But I am a man like any other. I am willing to be a king today, for tomorrow I may be a pauper. And I will again be a pauper; the time will be right. The difference in my own eyes lies in the fact that I am not bound to my present life. I am living it and it is part of one circle that will lead eventually to the next. What the next will be I cannot say, but I look forward to it. This is why I smoke the hashish and still smuggle a little of it. It allows me to separate myself from this life, to look at life from a different perspective so I don't become too attached to it. I am not saying what I do is right for everyone, but each man must find his own way. It is important to experience a little of every life -- the businessman, the beggar, the criminal -- though I don't mean crime in the sense of murder, but crime in the sense we are all victims of the forces surrounding us, our environments, and to rebel against or reject these forces is criminal in the conventional way of thought. This is what I mean by criminal: to rebel against the environment in which you are molded or shaped. Thus, to rebel is to be open to change, and to change is to move to another circle, another step in the direction of life fulfillment."

Thomas paused to take a puff from the pipe. Carol laughed and said, "Thomas, if that wasn't a hash-inspired thought, I don't know what it was. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

Carol and Hasan got up and left the room. Later Thomas and I talked about sometimes feeling as if one were outside oneself, seeing that self as a separate entity. At one point Thomas said something that was the exact parallel of a paragraph I had written in my journal that morning about the constant feeling of watching the curious comings and goings of someone named David Thompson, of laughing at his follies, of empathizing with his joys, of weeping at his sorrows. I procured the page from my notes and brought it back to show to Thomas. He read it, smiled, and nodded as if to say, "I understand you. We are of the same feeling and thought."

A few nights later after everyone had gone to bed, Thomas and I took some psilocybin. We put on our coats and went for a walk. The night was cold, but invigorating. We walked to the highest point of the hill behind his house. We could see all of Basel on one side and Lorrach on the other. The lights glimmered below in a U-shape as if we were on an island surrounded by a sea of stars. Nearby were black silhouettes of bare trees. Snow was on the ground. Thomas looked wistfully into the distance.

"David, this may be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I must take a picture of this spot, this circle. Look at this circle here where there are seven trees, each reaching out as if groping for love, for communication, much like the mass of mankind. This spot is right at the southern tip of the Black Forest and is unique. From here you can see three countries. I love this place. But it is so hard to live here much of the time. There are many games to play. People are coming and going all the time, people wanting to smoke a pipe, straight customers looking at carpets, people staying as if I'm running a motel. Everyone wants something. It's very difficult to handle constantly."

"I've noticed. You're on the go constantly from morning to late at night. It must put a strain on you. It seems to me eventually you're going to collapse. I can't believe your wife puts up with cooking for all these people. And your kids probably would like to spend more time with you."

"Yes, it does get to them and to me, but it is important to experience it. There is so much that keeps me here. Especially my mother and father. But I would also like to live in a community where there is brotherhood and people helping each other. Here there is too much suspicion and narrow thinking. Most of the people here are trapped by their environment. I need to break free from it all. I think often of the things I have done in the past, the adventures, and sometimes I believe I was closer to being free in those wilder days. It is possible, I think, to find such a place. Did I tell you about my six friends who have a farm in New Zealand? I helped them make all the connections and contacts. They made one run, sold their dope somewhere in New York for an incredible price, and now they are completely free with their lives.

"This is my dream: to have a group of people who are together and could set up a kind of world community, say, with one group in California, another in Canada or Spain or South America, and maybe one here in the Black Forest. In this way every couple of years everyone could trade environments and not fall into the same pattern of life. It would be healthy for all involved. Everyone would be continually learning new cultures and ideas. But this is all very idealistic and would take a lot of money with people who were intellectually and spiritually committed, a kind of international utopia for artists and free thinkers where they would not be hampered by politics and wars."

A heaviness came over Thomas. He sighed, a cloud of breath passing from his mouth into the night air. He seemed for a moment very much alone.

"But these are all just thoughts," he continued. "Just whispers in the wind, sometimes too fleeting, too fast. I also wonder if it is not possible that in this life we are not the hunters but the hunted. Do we not first give up our innocence, then our youth, our eagerness, our love, our faith in our fellow men, and finally our power, all for nothing? No real reward except a final willingness to leave this world? Ah, David, Asia will change you. You must be prepared. Your coming here was no accident. The time has come. I will tell you what I know."

We returned to the yurt, built a fire, and, as eerie shadows danced against the animal-hide walls, I listened until the early hours of the morning to what Thomas knew about the history, religion, and politics of Iran and Afghanistan.