The Victoria Guest House here on Mount of Olives, East Jerusalem, welcomes a diversity of people from all walks of life, from around the world. Some stay here for but a single night, while others, like me, make this their home for an extended period of time, some for as long as a few years.

While I have been here but eight days, I have already found thorough enjoyment in the daily interactions with the other guests, both short and long term. One in particular, Thomás, offers insightful words and phrases which either cause one to contemplate the finer points of the meaning of life (sometimes in a very real, serious sense, sometimes more in the context of Monty Python) or stir the imagination as to how many ways there are to move through the world.

Thomás has spent the past sixteen years wandering, simply moving from place to place. He offers in his German accent, “My heart and my soul, they guide me.” He places his fingers, slightly relaxed, at the center of his chest. “Sometimes, I wake in the morning, and I don’t know where I will go this day. I just walk outside and I start to move, this direction or that, until it feels right. I listen. And when my soul tells me I am going in the right direction, I just keep going, like that.”

His eyes drop and his lips quiver, as though processing what he will say before he is given the words. He looks up again, and smiles, “Yeah, sure. Sometimes I get lost … but I always find my way, because it doesn’t really matter where I go. It is all the same, in the end.”

He has visited more than forty countries, including Egypt, Israel and Palestine, Thailand, and the United States. He welcomes opportunities to volunteer, to help people, and to work, but through some kind of accident, is living off what I gather is a small disability fund. In this regard, perhaps, he is a volunteer outreach of the European Union.

Some of what he shares is truly engaging, and I look forward to our conversations each morning and night. He speaks of clarity of mind and purpose of soul, and argues that thinking too much is destructive to the balance of ego and mind.

While I maintain respect for him, and verbally praise those exchanges which do resonate, I also counter some of what he offers, a healthy intellectual banter to balance his otherwise purely philosophical approach. “Thomás. I have spent my life enjoying and promoting the sciences, for they give us a deep understanding of how our universe works. They are the foundation for most of what we now take for granted in our modern world. It is difficult to hear that you ask me and others to not think too much, for thinking is one of our species’ greatest gifts.”

“But thinking too much, it is a problem. It takes us away from the purpose of our soul.”

“If you want people to stop thinking, then you had better say goodbye to your laptop, cell phone, and the airplane that brought you here. Hundred of thousands of people had to think pretty hard to enable those machines to serve you as they do.”

It seems like a silly thing to argue about, whether we should think or not, but there is value to what Thomás offers, for those who practice meditation do say something similar—we need to spend time each day disengaged from our thoughts, from the mindless chatter in our heads in order to come down from that place which keeps us overwhelmed with all we must do and be and say.

Thomás later admitted he sometimes says things to one extreme or another, to make his points. We all do.

This morning he moved me to write something about our interactions, the simplicity of our conversation such that I was able to capture it in words without a digital recording. Down the marble stairs, across the entry way, I entered the kitchen to fill my mug with hot water for tea. Thomás was there, and I said to him, “Guten Morgen Thomás!” and then added, “How did you sleep?”

“Ah, well. I slept ok? (raising his voice as he does) But it takes time to adjust, to sleep well in a new place. Right? And you?”

I was surprised to hear this from a man who has been in a new place every few days, weeks at most, for sixteen years.

“As my grandfather would say, ‘Two eyes closed.’ But truly, it has been hard, for this place is noisy, all day, all night. Horns. Sirens. Fireworks. Yelling. I spent the better part of my summer living on the boundary of the wilderness, on a remote ranch, going to sleep with and waking to the howl of the coyotes and bugle of the elk. It was glorious … so this has been a challenge for me. I sleep with the windows closed despite my desire for the cool, evening air.”

“Yes. I know what you mean.” Thomás stirred the small spoon in his coffee and then looked up again, his eyes telling me before his lips moved that he had something more to say, “So many people, they live in cities their whole lives. This cannot be healthy. We cannot hear the voice of our soul if our brains are always so noisy.”

I nodded, shifting my body weight to prepare for what I knew would be a short dissertation. He paused, his lips speaking without a sound again, his eyes darting across the floor before he looked up and met mine across the room, “There are two parts to each of us. The ego and the soul. The ego is the brain and it must always be awake when in the city, wanting something, needing things, and protecting. We can live our whole lives like this