The Man from Earth

**SUMMARY:** A university professor abruptly resigns, revealing he is over fourteen thousand years old, has met the Buddha, and is Jesus Christ, stunning his friends.

The scent of steel and sawdust drifted in the late afternoon sun. The small pickup truck was nearly full with cartons, books, and a few familiar household items. John, a history professor at a prestigious university, was carefully tying a rope around the last box.

A car rumbled to a stop behind him. Friends and colleagues stepped out from shiny vehicles, carrying beer and platters of fried chicken. They had come to see him off, though every face was filled with an unmistakable look of inquiry.

"So where are you going? You're a renowned professor, soon to be department head... why quit now?" a female colleague, an anthropology professor, asked first. The beer in her hand trembled slightly with surprise.

John didn't answer immediately. He placed the box firmly in the truck, then turned back and gently patted his close friend's shoulder. His gaze was calm, yet carried an unusual depth.

"It's just personal reasons. Nothing major," he said, his voice low and measured.

But his friends were not ones to let things go easily. They were scientists, always seeking answers to every phenomenon. The group filed into the house, gathered around an old wooden table, nibbling on the food, and waited patiently.

"John, if you consider us friends, tell us the truth. What's going on?" This time it was a professor who was a doctor, one who had researched cells with him.

Silence stretched out. The hum of an old fan on the ceiling was the only sound.

Then John sighed. He set down his glass of water, looked up at each familiar face. "Alright. I will tell you a story. But I have never told anyone this story before. I also don't know how it will be received."

He paused for a moment, then asked, "If a person lived fourteen thousand years ago, what would they look like?"

"Fourteen thousand years ago, human form had changed very little," the anthropology professor replied instantly, without needing to think.

John nodded. "So what if a person never aged, never died... then what?"

The group looked at each other. Someone laughed. "Are you writing a science fiction novel?"

"No," John answered, his voice serious. "And I have proof."

He began to speak, slowly, detail by detail. About a body capable of perfect self-regeneration. About distant memories from the Stone Age. Then he walked over to a wooden cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a small, smooth stone of strange shape.

"This is a tool from the Stone Age. I have kept it since then."

The anthropologist started, took the stone, and examined it closely. "Yes... this is authentic. Where did you get this?"

"As I said. I lived back then."

Another person pointed to a painting of sunflowers hanging on the wall. "And this painting... it's exactly Van Gogh's style. Did you know Van Gogh?"

"I was his friend. He painted it for me."

"But your face... it hasn't changed in ten years," the female professor added, her voice trembling. "We want to know this secret. As women, we truly need it."

John smiled faintly. "You all said those things, not me. You said my face hasn't changed. The professor said this is an authentic artifact from ancient times. I am simply telling my story."

The more he spoke, the more the intricate, undeniable details emerged. Memories of dynasties, of historical events only an insider would know. The intelligent friends began to sense the truth emerging before their eyes.

Then John spoke of a time he journeyed east. "I met the Buddha."

The room fell utterly silent. All eyes fixed on him.

"The Buddha was the most extraordinary human being I have met in fourteen thousand years. He seemed to know my situation. I stayed with him until he passed away, and then remained there to practice for another five hundred years."

Someone swallowed hard. "And what about... Jesus? Do you know of that era?"

John was silent. The silence was suffocating.

"After I was with the Buddha, after he died, I returned to the Near East, to the Roman Empire. Rome was an aggressive empire, a massive killing machine. My ambition was to use the Buddha's teachings of compassion to oppose it. I taught the Jews not to kill, not to use violence."

He paused, taking a deep breath.

"And then Rome arrested me. They crucified me."

"You... you are Jesus?" someone stammered, dropping their beer glass.

John didn't answer. He merely looked at them, his gaze calm.

"But I am a person who never has scars. My body regenerates completely. When I was crucified, I entered a state of concentration in the Tibetan, Indian style to feign death. Then later, I emerged from that state, came back to life, and walked out of the cave. A few disciples saw this, and they called it the resurrection."

He spoke more about language, about the name "Yasua" in Hebrew, which became "Jesus" in Greek, and then "Giêsu" in Latin. All of it was so logically consistent that no one could refute it.

The people in the room, though eminent scientists, were moved to tears. Not from fear, but because the truth was so vast, so beautiful, so shattering.

John turned back to his packing, preparing to leave. He didn't look back. But behind him, his friends remained stunned, sitting still as statues.

Only, on their faces, a new faith was slowly forming: that truth is one, and the different paths ultimately converge at a common point.

**Meaning of the Story**

The meaning of the story: Every genuine spiritual path leads to the same common truth. When we truly seek what is right, we discover a profound harmony among religions, which then fosters love and harmony among people, overcoming all sectarian barriers.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.