Wandering alone without a home in the outdoors, you face your fears, all of them, the greatest of which is death. When you face that death, walk with it and embrace it and even come to love it, then death slaughters the child that you were and turns you into an adult.
The place you kill your child is outdoors, mine on that long bloodbath walk that lasted two years. In nature and separated from the world of people. I loved that flow so deeply I never wanted to return to the their silly world. The world of people who remain greedy mewling children until they die of old age. But I had to if I was to survive, although content, my teeth were falling-out and I was sometimes too hungry to move.
It is easy to be a Buddha in the wilderness. Less easy in the city surrounded by anger and violence and poverty. Kill that child who wants and hopes and wishes and just live in that moment where the beauty of the world floods in. The birds sing, the cars pass, the people and the flowers live and seed and die and everything is just as it should be.