Mar 10, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
A Winter Walk in Sun and Snow
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Sunday, March 10th, 2013
Today, S and I went for an hour and a half walk through the woods near our house. It was a stunningly beautiful day — the sky was a freshly washed cerulean, and the white of the snow from the recent snowstorm overlay everything, fresh and soft, crunchy in parts, and pillowy in parts, always alluring, always leading us on to the next slope, the next outcropping of rock, the next tenderly nestled valley.
The woods near our house are almost improbable. On both sides, there are busy highways and roads, and all around, there are human dwellings. One does not expect to get lost in the woods. One does not expect to climb up snowy slopes, and look out on acres of trees, hills and valleys, little rivulets, streams and ponds. One does not expect such a dense quietude like the one we experienced, with the silence of sunlight pouring down on our upturned meditating faces, as we sat on a rock, tired from walking, catching our breath, holding hands, smiling into the empty sky.
Walk into these woods, and all that is human-made disappears. The trees and stumps look mysterious, inviting, the stuff of poems and dreams. Because it’s still winter, there are no animals to be seen, and no birds warbling in the trees to break the tightly-woven fabric of silence, which is punctuated only by the startling crunch of our shoes. There is an imperceptible hush of traffic in the distance, but it disappears like a sigh, once one is deep within the woods.
This afternoon, as we walked further and further in, S and I imagined that hidden in the broken stumps and hollow fallen trees might lurk small families of shy, nocturnal, scurrying creatures. No sign of ducks, squirrels, snakes or frogs yet — that might take another month or more. I haven’t seen foxes or coyotes here. And there are no bears in these woods — not yet, anyway!
She is only eight, this child of mine, and she is magical, filled with a deep, abiding love for the earth, its creatures, and for these special woods so close to home. We talked about how beautiful it was to sit on the rocks, to walk together, to see the untrodden snow. She wanted me to take the day off on this coming Tuesday, so we could go to the woods again together on my birthday. She was excited that my birthday was approaching. I realized that I should rein in my rather blasé attitude towards my “special day.” To her, it was an event of major import — the day I was born, lo! those many years ago! I tried to muster up some enthusiasm for it, and found it was easy. All it takes is the company of a loving child, and we are reborn from the ashes of our daily drudgery.
We strayed from the beaten path occasionally, and stayed on the trodden parts frequently (a lesson in there, somewhere? I think not! One must avoid reading too much into everything!). We held hands, and skipped over small streams, stopped to talk to a passing dog, whose owner smiled and allowed us to befriend his four-footed companion. We saw a solitary cross-country skier, walk towards us, thin and translucent in the light. “Hello!” we said to her, and she said, “Hello!” back. An occasional human in the woods is a cheering sight.
My child is a mountain-goat. I remember when she was barely twenty months old, she raced up the steep slopes of the very same woods, and I couldn’t stop her. She was sure-footed, and very interested in the steeper paths. Today, she laughed at my naked fear when she raced up steep slopes, and said, “Don’t be so scared, Mom! I wonder why grown-ups are always so nervous about everything!” I bristled in mock-indignation, and zigzagged up and down slopes from time to time (I was nervous that I might twist an ankle, and then be forced to hobble home), just to prove her wrong.
We walked for a long time, and in the end, we found ourselves at the very end of the trail, on the other side. We were jubilant! We’d never seen the other side before. We had strayed quite far. With unerring instinct, we found our way back to the main trail, and doggedly went on that, because now, we were feeling a little tired, happily so.
And one other thing. My feet squelched. The snow had been really deep in parts, and I was too busy enjoying it to care at the time. Now, it was all about “Ugh! I’ve got to get home now!” It wasn’t so bad, really, until we reached the main road, and went towards our house. Then, it got really uncomfortable.
We picked up trash along the way. My daughter started it, and I followed. She was indignant at the trash left near the side of the woods, along the road, and so was I. “Silly people!” she fumed. I agreed with her. We resolved that next time, we would take two large trash bags with us, and pick up trash on our way back. I thought, perhaps, we would even make a large sign and carry it! Perhaps, we could start a neighborhood trend. Nothing like a little positive action to breed more positive action (one hopes)!
We made it home, and I needed help from W to get my shoes off. I sat down on the mudroom bench. He pulled hard at my boot. I fell! (I’m afraid I wasn’t gracious there for a second. We shall gloss over the scene, shall we?) After recovering my poise and gravity, I thanked him. We laughed. There was a puddle of water and snow in both boots. Thank goodness for home!
S and I stood in the shower, aiming the shower nozzle that poured hot, hot water over our unsocked feet. What luxury!
Then, we had a lovely snack, some hot tea and plenty of downtime away from each other. This is the stuff of happy living.
When I reflect on my homecoming, I realize that it’s far harder to enjoy the woods and the cold, if one has no food or hot water, or love or kindness to come home to.
And when I think, “God! I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow!” I realize that that is the price I pay for this.
And I am truly grateful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Mother and Daughter, A Walk in the Snowy Woods, Gratitude, Green Earth, Silence and Sunlight
Feb 14, 2013 THE STORIES
Almost the Day of Reckoning – An Atheist’s Allegory
©February 13th, 2013
By Vijaya Sundaram
There was a hush.
It settled over the land, a vagueness that brought a disquieting sense of menace. A message emerged from the hush, cloaked in scarlet, masked in secrecy, outlined in ice.
The birds carried the message to creatures across the land. The trees leaned closer to listen, and dropped the message into their acorns.
The squirrels which picked up the acorns held them to their little furry ears and listened with alarm widening their eyes, and making their breath whistle in their tiny nostrils. They dropped the acorns and ran.
The message burst out of the acorns, and blossomed into a cloud of pestilence, which bore these unmistakable words in every known human language: Death is coming to the land. Make haste and flee. You will not escape it, but you can buy time.
Those who heard the message made haste and fled.
They rode in silver ships into the depths of the galaxy.
They dived in silver ships into the deepest abysses of the oceans.
They dug their way deep into burrows and build colonies, and lived hidden from view.
A few put on their best raiment, wrote songs and stories and poems, planted seeds in the ground, planted trees, and waited with open eyes and unafraid hearts.
Death came, soon enough.
Arrayed in the blackest night with nary a star to show the way, she stood, tall and terrible, and her smoky voice filled the air.
I have come, she said, for I have a mission to fulfill. I see that the others have gone. I shall find them soon enough. But why and wherefore did you stay? I do not spare souls. It is time for all humans to be wiped out. You are the pestilence. You have bled the earth, and choked the air with your noxious vapors and made the mountains tremble with the sounds of war. Why are you still here? Why did you not buy some time, and flee from me?
A silence fell like soft fog.
Then, the oldest stepped forward. Ancient wrinkles creased her face, and her smile shone like the moon through the clouds, for though she was afraid, she was prepared. Her heart was blameless, and she had borne the burden of her days with calm stoicism. With hair like spun silver, and a voice like the sighing of the trees, she spoke:
You may take us, but our songs fill the air. The birds have learned them. Our plants are growing to the rhythm of our work and our songs. Our trees are breathing in the breath we weave into these notes. The earth is calming herself. For you see, we read a message within your message that blossomed scarlet and terrible from the acorns. So, while the others fled, we knew we had a sliver of time in which we could leave behind something beyond our horrible deeds. So, take us now. We are not afraid. But mind, without our songs and our working hands, the earth will forget herself and the beauty she wrought when she made us.
The earth regrets you! spake Death, her voice shivering the air into ice, making it tremble. She blames herself. She rues the day that you were made. I am her sole hope. I will have to slay you all.
We are not afraid, murmured the assembled people, although their hearts were frozen with fear.
Death was quiet for a moment, then spoke again:
You have broken the fundamental laws of nature. You have bled the rocks and smashed the atom for gain. You have burned your plastics and trashed the oceans. You have not been good stewards of the land. You have left nothing for the generations to follow. The daughters of your daughters of your daughters unto the seventh generation will inherit a land that is dessicated and stunted. The sons of your sons of your, sons unto the seventh generation will breathe (if they can still breathe) noxious vapors, and their DNA will shift and re-form into that which deforms humankind. The birds will bear their kind with two heads, and the beasts of the field will bloat and bear monstrosities. I shall have to slay you all.
We are not afraid, murmured the assembled people, although their souls swelled with terror.
Death looked at them, admiring the puny humans assembled, humble and unafraid of her might.
And she spake yet again, for though she was terrible, yet was she merciful. If I let you stay a little longer, and come for you not all at once, but in stages, (for I have to come), will you restore this earth, who is my sister and your mother? she asked, and this time, her voice was the merest whisper, gentler, kinder, so that the people ceased to quake and tremble within. Will you sing her songs? Will you turn those swords into plough-shares, and those guns into instruments that make music? Will you treat the animals of the land and sea, and the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea as your brethren and your sisters? And Death paused, for she had surprised herself, and wondered at herself.
And the youngest stepped forward. Her hair stood stiffly around her head like a halo, and her eyes were stars. Her skin shone like copper, and her smile was radiant like the sun. Her voice was like a bell of purest silver, and her heart was the heart of a lioness.
We shall, she said. You must keep your promise, dear Death. Do not strike us down in haste. For we shall welcome you when you come in good time. We shall not resist, as we do not resist now.
Death spake again, and she said, This shall I do for my sister, your mother, the Earth. And this I do also, for you, unto you, that you may live and bear your children, and bring peace unto this earth.
The people murmured among themselves, and started to chant the song of peace. And the chant swelled into a chorus that flew on the wings of birds and wafted on the waves of the seas.
And silence spread her wings and carried that song to the far reaches of the earth.
Seeing this, Death took her leave and went to find the others, for she still had a mission to fulfill, although her heart was not in it. Yet, for all that, she was happy.
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Note: This was, at the time, an unconscious tip of the hat to Oscar Wilde’s style of writing new parables in the style of Biblical parables. So, this is a cousin once removed (or something) in terms of style.
Tags: #Death, #Life, #Peace, allegory, Climate Change, Green Earth, humanism, Original Short Stories, parable, Restoring the Planet, Seventh Generation, Stewards of the land, War