When Silence has spoken: The First Five Chapters
Escaping a loud and an unexpected day. I took a walk, alone in the morning long rain.
Having my smoke, dodging small puddles, and wet ferns, rehearsing in my mind
justification for an outburst, of strong words that could be spoken softly in my defense.
I noticed a worm, extended and wiggling in a very large, shallow puddle that the rain was deepening. I went around it.
Upon my return, in a quicker stride, still painfully twirling words,
still rehearsing in my mind, both the truth and the lie.
I stepped again around that same puddle, noticing the worm
was halfway out, scrambling towards a fallen forest leaf. I stopped.
Extended and wiggling in a slow rhythmic pace, it seemed to me, that it was going nowhere fast.
With a nearby twig, I hunched over, squatting with righteousness,
I dug a small trench off the path’s boundary. I scooped up the worm,
twisting ‘round and ‘round on the tip of my twig,
I gently placed it into the trench and covered it.
Advancing, confidence in my gait towards home, I was feeling down-right righteous, sensitive, compassionate and light in my thoughts.
A large bird swiftly flew by me, perched itself in a nearby pine tree
screeching in staccato, on a branch above a nearby well made nest.
Startled and staring in wonder I began to walk away. She darted at me again, seeming to stop in mid-air, fluttering its wings like a swan, then looped back on a visible branch a just above the nest.
Looking closer, with surprise I now could see three or four little heads bobbing and beeping with wide open beaks.
Hearing the screecher s’ hungry lament, as if to be scolded for interfering with its meal; expecting its meal, since the rain began, I could feel myself sink, melting into the rain-soaked path.
I knew I had just been spoken to very boldly. I felt like a heretic, as I was being called, spoken without linguistics.
All in that moment the consequences of my action, blessed and scolded filled me with anxiety, exhilaration with guilt. I began to walk, my heels sticking and releasing behind me leaving a deafening sound.
I tried to clear my mind, but my pace and my thoughts went from pride to shame, from arrogance to blame into utter confusion. No place to hide. No place to go. From where do I return?
The rain stopped. The sun emerged between the branches and the pines; making bright channels of sparks, igniting the heavy mist into white smoke and gradually thickening to rise as a fog along my feet. Then unpredictably, whisking past me, it started to collect, all in one space on the path ahead of me.
It began to take the shape of two people, maybe not persons , just two figures drifting in front of me. I was losing my mind. Seeing them, seeing this, seeing that.
The fog took solid beyond imagination I envisioned the Holy Rumi and his Dervish companion. The Holy one spoke. Each word carried, diminished the delusion the fog created.
“Observe the wonders as they occur around you. Do not claim them. Feel the artistry moving through and be silent.”
I kept trying to find my mind. To understand, yet unable to think, as the mist and fog wavered and waffled towards channels of sunlight dissipating as sparklers, celebrating the transition into sunshine through the last drop of rain; its moment of prism.
The day had subtlety changed along my path.
Nothing! Nothing that I could conjure up. Nothing but silence, wisely returned.