Signs

Pictures taken from the net (definitely not mine).

Here you are one moment, living the sub-urban life, increasingly becoming the center of your world, and making Godzillas out of the geckos of everyday existence. And the next moment, Nature grabs you by the balls and shows you something so majestic, so unabashedly glorious that you can't help but revel in the understanding that you are just a tiny smidgen of Nature itself, no less beautiful, no less scintillating.

Driving to work a couple of days ago, NPR fighting for oblivion in the rest of the habitual morning noise, we swung onto US 682 where it hugs the Hocking river, and shoots off a driveway to the allegedly haunted Ridges, where I earn my keep. Before we could take that turn, however, a huge bird alighted on the fence. It was definitely larger than the ubiquitous turkey vulture. We drove past, missed our turn, turned around and drove back. Oblivious to the rush of the morning traffic, not a mile from the town's busiest thoroughfare, feathers glinting in the morning sun, there it was: a glorious golden eagle. Its cursory glance at our passing vehicle held all the dignity of aeons of perfection. All noise seemed to go silent. It was timeless.

Then it happened again, this morning. Going about our everyday scramble to decide what to have for breakfast, what to take for lunch - our overarching issues of the day, we were accustomed to seeing our lanlady's five canine companions potter around the front yard and litter by our window. But as I looked out today, I froze, only to breathlessly whisper to my wife to come see. The yard had emptied, the frigid temperature and frosted ground dissuading the dogs from staying out too long.
And right in the middle of the yard, still as any of the garden ornaments, but oozing life from every sinew, stood a magnificent six-point buck. Proud head raised, broad shoulders poised to spring, it listened to maybe the dogs barking from indoors. I had a brief vision of our neighbors (who had a dead deer hanging on the back of their house for weeks last year) coming out and blowing its head off, but it faded soon. Then, as though realizing how pathetic the little chihuahuas really were, it turned around and walked lazily to the three-foot high fence that surrounds the yard. It stopped when its forelegs were almost touching it, as if it had just noticed the fence's existence. I was wondering if it had to pace back in order to jump, when it raised its forelegs and cleared the fence with such fluidity and effortlessness that I burst out laughing. It sauntered down our driveway and back into the woods whence it had come. Again, total silence.

These moments seem to be Nature's way of laughing at us. Our little fences, our little vehicles, all our ruses to get around our little two-legged nakedness, and if we can't dominate, we pull out a gun (or bomb) and kill whatever (or whoever) does something better (or differently). But in such moments, we are the proverbial "deer-in-headlights", where we stand, in all our nakedness, shocked at the self-sufficiency of a being that is a perfect part of its ecology, awed by the prospect that we still have the choice to follow that path, scared by the very fences that we have built in our way, deafened by the very silence we have disowned.

Sometime in an alternate future...

The class listened with interest as the science teacher scrawled on the blackboard: "Homosaurs".

"5 million years ago," she said, looking around at the expectant reptilian eyes in the room,"they disappeared without a trace. Can anyone tell me how?"

There was a general muttering, as several half-hearted answers fought for ignominy. Apparently the teacher heard something that satisfied her, or else she pretended to.

"That's right," she said, "Nu'Kyular radiation." She wrote the words on the board. "Homosaurs were a vibrant, intelligent species. But their HeadNewts were not always of that caliber."

"They had HeadNewts?" asked a tiny eft on the front bench. The salamanders in the back snickered.

"Not exactly HeadNewts, Kha'jur," said the teacher indulgently. "The homosaurs chose one of them to lead them, one for every tribe. But some homosaurs told the rest of the homosaurs that they were the chosen ones, although they weren't, and became HeadNewts. And -," she continued, pre-empting the wagging tail of little Kha'jur, "and they fought each other."

"Why?"

"Oh, for all kinds of reasons - let's just say that what the homosaur HeadNewts wanted was not what the rest of the homosaurs wanted. But they used fear and ideology to keep the homosaurs from thinking about that. And to keep that fear alive, they had to fight."

"But fighting removes fear", said a burly, self-important looking newt.

"Only when the fighting stops," said the teacher. "Not if it is fueled forever. Anyway, we can go into that in the philosophy class. The point is, they had done this before, twice before, in fact. But that was the weakness of the homosaurs. Each thought its life was different, its ordeals were different. They detached from history the way their live young detached from their mothers. That's right Kha'jur - unlike us, they didn't lay eggs."

She paused and looked around the class for effect, but some newts were yawning. It was getting close to lunch-time, and they were looking expectantly out of the window-hole toward the pool.

"Then there was the Nu'Kyular." Eyes turned back toward her. "A fearsome energy they learned to release somehow. Our foremost ScienceNewts are working on finding that out even now."

"But," said Kha'jur, unwavering, "what caused this final fight?"

"We don't exactly know," answered the teacher. "But it is believed that a being called Fripress Cartoon Prophet created a clash between the two largest tribes of homosaurs." She wrote the name on the board. "We don't know how it happened, but we have a hypothesis. The scraps of records our ArcheoNewts found speak of the tribe called West, and a tribe called Terro Reast, which kept fighting each other almost since they were founded. When some sort of peace was reached, the false homosaur HeadNewts would find a new way to disturb it.

"But Fripress was someone they all liked because of its openness. But then the West used Fripress to say something bad against the Terro Reast. While Fripress said a lot of bad things about the West, too, nobody paid any attention, because they had something new to fight over, to keep the homosaurs from realizing that their HeadNewts were liars.

"But there were no fighter homosaurs left, because they had been fighting so long. So they released the Nu'Kyular on each other. In fact, the last leader of the West gave that energy its name."

The class was silent. "Hmm...," said little Kha'jur "I hope our ScienceNewts never find the Nu'Kyular."

"Or Fripress," said the burly, self-important looking newt.

Anger

It is a luxury many of us are better without.
A dangerous pet: at once a snake that lashes out, or if chained, a leech that gnaws inwards.
A crimson tide that washes over your smiles and leaves them smelling of blood.
That taints reality and distorts humanity. That justifies itself and feeds on itself.
That paints love in the color of lust and vice versa.

What does it take to forgive?
Who will embrace fallibility and not look like he is giving excuses for his mistakes?
Who will open up to others' judgements, their expectations, and welcome them like one would welcome the neighbor's stray animals on one's doorstep?
Yet know better than to make them one's own?

The powerful write history.
They set the standards, they make the rules.
Will we be any less powerful if we do not live by them? Will we be denying our roots if we call History a bunch of lies?

Who will dare to be happy?
Who will dare not to judge?
Will dare not to call another a hypocrite because he doesn't see the same things as one does?
Will teach their children not to point fingers, but to look within and wonder?

Anger.
It is a harsh friend, a ruthless enemy. A searing libation that lacerates the soul whether you drink it or spit it out.
Stop tearing at your own wounds thinking you are causing others to bleed.
Just watch. Just watch.
And wonder.

The little bird of happiness

One of the highlights of the intelligent movie K-Pax (Kevin Spacey, Jeff Bridges) is when Prot (Spacey) cures a person suffering from severe depression by asking him to look for "the Blue Bird of Happiness". This patient, being totally non-responsive to medication, is seen to find incredible elation in witnessing an aim come true for him, although the aim itself is no more than a small bluebird fluttering busily in a bush - an almost common sight for the ordinary person. The scene touches you at various levels.

And today, I saw my bird of happiness.

In the yard in front of our house stands an august gathering of hooked iron bars, from which are suspended several receptacles containing matter which members of the aviary species regard with esculent interest. One such receptacle, in particular, is an inverted pitcher with a narrow channel at its bottom, and contains a bright red, semi-sweet, fragarant solution. The liquid is contained within purely through the phenomenon of atmospheric pressure, the outlet being too narrow to allow the liquid to escape and air to enter at the same time. Unless, of course, an outside agency were to flutter up to it and suck the liquid out.

After weeks of moving into this beautiful cedar-sided house in the country, I have seen several feathery fliers that I could never have witnessed in my life in uptown Athens. Cardinals (scarlet streaks), woodpeckers (aerobatic experts), blue jays (bullies with ADD), chickadees, finches and bluebirds (size doesn't matter), mourning doves (clumsy fliers), waxwings (wannabe cardinals)...are all regular partakers of the hospitality of our landlord. It thrills the heart to watch these winged beings, flying seemingly effortlessly (except for the doves who make it look as difficult as it probably is), living a life of defying gravity, yet exhibiting personalities and mannerisms as unique as the human fingerprint.

However, once in a while, when the light is just right, and the wind is blowing in the perfect direction with just the right speed, there is another magnificent mystery of nature that manifests itself. With a drone it hovers over the flowers, gently persuading them to open up their innermost hearts to yield libations which only the humble bees can claim to have tasted. Despite its absolute mastery over aerodynamics, there is a quietness to its movement, a simplicity that mocks the elaborate showiness of beings even other than birds. The sheer innocuousness of the process is belied by its complexity - 90Hz wing speeds, stationary and reverse flight, air speeds of upto 70 miles an hour - unparalleled in any example of flight conceivable. And as I stood on the porch today, sipping my white-tea-and-honey, this 3-inch-long phenomenon made its way to the incongruously red pitcher of faux-nectar in the yard for an early morning breakfast.

"Hummingbird", I whispered/prayed.

For a second it flew at a perfect "standstill" under the feeder, quenching its hunger/thirst; and then it receded, turned and shot directly past my head into the trees behind our house. I turned to barely follow it with my eyes, while it perched for a moment on one of the lower branches of a pine. Then as I stared open-mouthed, it retraced its path by my head and flew across the yard, the road by it and the valley on the other side, a speck over the yawning openness, into the woods beyond the valley.

People pray for all sorts of things. For a mate, a job, a house, a car. Give me this one thing, they say, and I won't ask for more. Sometimes those prayers are answered the way they are expected to be...but at other times, when you know that prayers are not the answer, but you pray nevertheless, the Power answers with a gentle joy sent your way....

a little bird

of Happiness.

To learning

All you poetry maestros have made me go ahead and do it...Haven't written poetry in ages!!



The image above was taken from USACC.org website, courtesy Google image search.

I walk a tightrope 'cross the breast of Fate -
A staff I bear to keep my vision straight;
And on the staff on one side are the hearts
That I have broken; on the other half
Are fledgling dreams in mute and hopeful wait.

With every step I take the weighing grows;
Another line a-furrow 'tween my brows;
Another day, a month, a year flows;
I stoop a little lower on my way
And set my sights upon the yonder clouds.

The pinnacle I seek if I do reach,
I will not be a Master all to teach;
Yet I can set my fledgling dreams on wing!
But if I fall -- O what may happen then?
I will not die or leave the world of men,
But mine will be a life 'tween Fall and Spring
The silent death-life of a vanquished soul.

The asker

Happiness.....contentment.....resignation....how many sides does this coin have??

Have you ever asked yourself if you're happy and felt yourself go on the defensive - "Yes! Yes I'm happy! Why should I not be? Look, I'm smiling!" Ever wonder why this happens? How it happens? Who asks and who answers? Does the asker not know the answer already? Can the answerer ever be a good liar?

The asker is like the guy in the passenger seat. If the drive is fun, he shuts up to watch. If it's not, he pipes up with questions...but never gets in the driver's seat.

But he also helps to keep you awake.

"What have you learned?"

We were sitting in the living room, strangers to each other months, days, even hours ago. It was late, almost 1 a.m. and the children had gone to bed. Some of us lay spread-eagled on the floor, others in armchairs with their legs up, still others leaning on whatever was near and back-worthy. One in particular, whom I had persuaded to stay, half-sat half-lay on the couch, nodding in sleep and looking beatiful.

Someone asked a question.

"I don't really ever think of it as learning", replied one, whose last job forced him to work 12-hour days starting at 3 am. "But I guess I learned that with two kids, you can never really keep track of time. I hardly talk to my wife...and then there's the thoughts I don't talk about anyways. But one day I'm screaming at my 5-yr old daughter, and my 2-yr old son walks up and hugs me. I look at him thinking 'What are you doing? I'm screaming at your sister!' He smiles his shy smile. Man, that's unconditional love right there."

"I'm learning about powerlessness," said another, whose 1-yr old daughter had had surgery when she was a month-old and has learned sign-language and is the most active child I've ever seen. "I know I'm doing what I love to do as a teacher, and it's challenging when people who know nothing about it take charge of it; but I'm learning about the faith and strength to keep doing what I do."

"Sustainability," said a third, who had ridden a Greyhound for 7 hours to get here. "I've sold my car, drive my bicycle around, use public transport, and I'm loving it. I'm living with people with similar interests, and it's great to see that we're trying to make a difference by living out our ideal."

My turn. "I'm re-learning simple things", I said, "It's frightfully easy to go back to where you were even after learning and changing. The other day as I was waiting for my bus, the sun was shining and it was snowing at the same time. It was beautiful, but people all around were just bustling about their daily lives, not stopping to look, to taste the snow on their tongues...I re-learnt that it's a privilege to be able to see beauty, in whatever small way, every day."

"I've learned that I'm exactly where I want to be," said the person next to me, a single mother to a 13-yr old dog. "It was a big decision to quit and work from home, and it was really shaky for a while, but I figured it out and now it's fairly smooth. But," she turned to me. "I miss what you talked about."

It's easy for me to say, I thought, I'm a college student who doesn't have to work the whole day, and doesn't (for now) have a career to worry about. But is it that hard to miss? When a rainbow sears across the sky, how can you not see it? When the setting sun kindles the clouds ablaze, would you rather talk on your cell-phone? How far do you have to go to hear a bird chirping or a child laughing? What does it take to turn off the TV and find a moment of silence?

Or to sit with a group of friends, coming together from different parts of the country, even from around the world, and find the comfort to share the thoughts in your heart?

Or the freedom to fall asleep?