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One day, he woke up. Amazing, he thought, I can feel my skin impacting the air and the rain on my face. So, this is my life, he said.

He went to the Priest and the Priest said, Yes, this is your life.

Then this, this is my life then?

Yes, the Priest said.

This is it? he said, not quite sure. This air, this street, this country?

Lord, yes. God would make it better, though, the Priest said. Here’s the Bible. Carry it in your pack whenever you need reminding.

He woke up the next day with God and said, so, this is my life now.

He went to the Buddha and the Buddha said, Yes, this is your life. Even with God in it, it’s still your life. This air, this country, this street.

And this skin, which I can feel impacting the air. It’s strange, He said. I woke up one day and realized that this is my life.

That sometimes happens, the Buddha said. You should carry the Buddha with you, though. This small bronze statue, put it in your pack.

He did. He woke up with God and the Buddha and said, this is my life now.

The Imam said, yes, this is your life. It’s amazing isn’t it to feel your skin. Do whales feel the water or do they simply pass through it?

I don’t know, but I wonder. He said, Are you sure it’s not some other person’s life, an “I” I don’t know deep inside me?

No one else’s but yours, the Imam said, as some “I” would still be a part of you. But since it is your life, you should carry Allah with you. Put this Koran in your pack for reminding.

He did. His life went with him everywhere, like a bird tied to his ear by string, and with it he carried God, the Buddha, and Allah.

He talked to the Priestess. Do you see the earth and the universe around you? the Priestess asked. You are made of the very same stuff as that.

I don’t actually see it, but I feel my skin impacting it, or used to. It seems so profound, he said. Everything emanates.

You should carry the Earth with you, said the Priestess. Put some dirt in your pack so you will always be reminded.

He found the Technologist at a corner cafe and showed him his pack and the Technologist said, It wouldn’t be complete without a computer. Carry this laptop with you and it will remind you of digital epiphany.

And so he carried God, the Buddha, Allah, Earth, and a computer in his pack, and found himself growing tired, his life had become so heavy, having God, Buddha, Allah, Earth, and a computer in the pack he carried. Soon he couldn’t remember what it was like not to bear the weight and people asked him why he dragged that pack with his on his rounds. Others asked why he didn’t carry more things, such as a moon pebble, a balance, and an alarm clock.

I can’t help it, he told them all. It’s my life. I keep forgetting that, as habits set in, and my surfaces grow numb, and the pack reminds me, but he realized, and upon waking one morning the notion was reinforced by a dream about racing water, that day by day on his travels all he could feel now was the pack, its straps on his shoulders, and that its weight had drowned out the sound of the rain.

Is this my life, bearing this pack? The weight of the pack persisted even after he laid it aside for the night.

On the street, he was attacked by a gang. They said, Give us your pack or we’ll take away your life.

At first he felt that he would brain each of the thieves with the heavy pack, which made a good weapon, but these thieves appeared forlorn, hungry, and ephemeral. He felt that they really didn’t understand what they were saying. He said, here, take it. It’s yours. It took all of them working together to drag the pack away.

Next day, he woke up and he said, this is my life. I’m still here. Outside, it was raining. He felt an impulse to go walk in it.