Climate Change is Real: Day 7 of My Lone Vigil
©March 25th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I awoke at an early hour, emerging sluggishly from a swamp-like sleep, in which I could not detect any dreams. As I got ready, put the dog out, heated up old coffee, and dressed, I was feeling pretty detached.
Still, I looked forward to going out there to battle the elements with my trusty sword, or rather, Warren’s trusty sign, “Climate Change is Real.”
Today, I was better prepared. More layers, thick gloves, the same scarlet and orange scarf as yesterday, two pairs of pants, moon-boots, hat – all that good New England preparedness which it took me years to learn. My phone and i-Pod were charged, and ready to go. Holly took her time coming back in. I was briefly frustrated, then shrugged it off. Whatever. She’s a dog, and has her business to attend to. It must be hard being so dependent on her humans who let her in and out, and decide when she can be taken for a walk. I felt bad for her, then shrugged, again. She has a very good life. We each pay the price for safety and shelter. What we do get is boundless love in the case of our dogs, though.
Holly was as good as gold when I left. She always is.
I was there at 7:54 a.m. sharp. Pah, again! Well, there’s always Monday to look forward to, and two days of blessed rest on Saturday and Sunday (of course, “rest” is a relative term)!
The air was rich with March moisture. While it cheered me to see the fog (I like fog), the fine, misty rain, which is more insidious than an outright downpour chilled me to the bone, despite it being about 40 degrees or so. I don’t like the cold of rain – I prefer the cold of snow. In any case, it got much warmer as the day wore on, just not in the hour that I stood there, fingers numb despite warm, thick gloves.
It being Friday, the traffic was somewhat sparser at the beginning, but grew denser as the hour unrolled. I sang Raga Bhatiyar moodily, my mind on other things, such as how awful old coffee tasted, and what possessed me get to bed so late all of this week, and did we have a future on this bleak planet, and why couldn’t I focus on Bhatiyar?
It didn’t matter. I sang, and my voice got stronger, and clearer, but the foggy air did not.
Listening to our Guruji’s voice, I re-focused my efforts. More taans and meandering aakars, gamaks and then, this very philosophical song (which I believe our teacher, Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali wrote. Correct me if I’m mistaken in this memory, Warren):
Kahe Dekhata Mukha Chandra
Asthai: Kahe dekhata mukha chandra (why do you look at my moon-face? Note: It doesn’t sound so silly in our language, because chandra is not just moon; it signifies radiant, shining, effulgent beauty, and such-like concepts.)
Dekho na, dekho na mukha chandra (do not look at my moon-face)
Nahi dekho mora mukha chandra (same thing)
Prati dina yaha cheena hota (Every day, it [the moon, and my beauty] wanes)
(“This beauty is ultimately going to perish,” said our teacher at this point)
Antara: Athi chanchala jobana roopa (“The form/beauty of youth is fleeting, flickering, transitory”)
Ghadi pala yaha ghatata jaata (“Every moment, it gets diminished, goes away”)
Mohe nahi isape ghuman (“I don’t have any pride in this, because every moment it’s going away, it is so fleeting, I know for certain that it is not going to last …” so explained our Guruji.)
I love our teacher’s philosophical, exhortatory songs!
The cold seeped into my fingers and feet, but I didn’t mind so much anymore. There is something lovely about March rain. I admired the deep browns and grays behind me, where the Fells began (or ended), and stretched into the unseen distance. I was grateful for stereo vision (as I am every day). A few brown-yellow leaves from last fall stood out, brightly three-dimensional, against a background of dark brown tree-branches, and the pearl-gray gleam of water behind them made me glimmer in response. I admired the reflection of the golden headlights of the cars on the tarmac, moving steadily towards me in the dim rain. I looked up at the sky, and admired it for being the sky. Now, as I write this, my favorite Beatles song Because sneaks, unwittingly, into my head.
Because the world is round
It turns me on
Because the world is round
Ah Ah
Because the wind is high
It blows my mind
Because the wind is high
Ah Ah
Love is old, Love is new,
Love is all, Love is You.
Because the sky is blue
It makes me cry
Because the sky is blue oo
I know exactly how John Lennon felt. I resonate with all of his lyrics, and all of his music. The sky can make me cry. The wind does blow my mind. The convexity of the earth does turn me on. Where the cars appear on the slope beyond my vision, and heave into view, the earth is curved and sexy (the cars aren’t).
Okay, I’m rambling again.
Today, there were a few smiles, a few waves, one thumbs-up, no negative head-shakings, except for one woman. I saw a couple of bicyclists, one of whom waved to me, as he does every day. All of these, plus muted birdsong and birds, and the moody fog … all of these images, visual and sonic, just hung around me like a dream.
I thought of the head-shakers, as I picked up my effects, preparing to head on home. I think I know why they do that. We’ve all done that at some point in our lives, perhaps more than once. When we don’t understand something or someone, we feel superior. It’s easy to put down someone, much easier than trying to understand them.
I will try not to do that in my life with things and people I don’t understand. It’s a cheap and easy cop-out, and a loss of opportunity to learn and love the world around us, flawed though we are, and frail and foolish though we might be. We are still beautiful and worth saving.
Have a good day or night. Thank you for reading. Happy weekend!
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