They say, Bhikku, that the Gods live on mountains. I highly doubt it. It is rather cold up there. But overall mountains aren't bad places to visit. They make one gentle. Unfortunately, they don't make one wise, but nor does anything else. At any rate, wisdom is a journey, not a destination.
-- The Diary, August 1st, 504 BC
It was a pika. At least that's what it most closely resembled, of the ten or so "common wildlife" pictures on the trail map. It was barely 15 feet from the trail. I switched on the camera as quietly as I could. It whirred on, sternly said LOW BATTERY and went to sleep again. I swore under my breath. Third wildlife sighting in camera range and second time this damn thing had to die. I cursed myself for not charging it daily. Why couldn't I be more organized?
Then I smiled at my own dissatisfaction, and looked at the pika. It now had its back to me. Slowly, it walked away. I decided to sit on a little rock by the trail. All around me were peaks rising up a few hundred feet. Well, they really were 8000 feet or more from ground level, but I was in a kind of high valley. The trail had been steep--nearly 1500 feet in barely 5 miles and then half-a-mile on this flatland surrounded by sharp high peaks. And so is life, I wistfully thought. In youth, the mind courts steep slopes, for it aims high. It strives and suffers, but marches on. But eventually the climb is too steep, the current too fast. The mind tires and compromises. It creates some comfortable niche, fills it with some Ism or the other, and fits in with the world. No wonder all these poetic birds go on and on about the glory of Youth.
I shrugged and looked around. The mountain air was keen, all around was quiet. This place was above the tree line. Only shrubs grew here, humble yet hardy foot-soldiers that could live through the fierce winter. But now it was summer, and the air was pleasantly warm. This little cup in the mountains brimmed over with the soft light of the evening sun. Touched by the sun's tender caress, the glacial ice on the mountain-tops shimmered happily, and a gold-edged cloud above looked down fondly on the scene. (More-puddle-than-)Lake Solitude lay before me. Her clear surface reflected the gently glowing peaks--she borrowed thier splendor and showed it off as her own. Around the lake, the dense shrubs simmered bright green. There were some wildflowers, not pretty in isolation, but achieving beauty through numbers. Swept by the muffled breeze, they swayed with slow grace, like drunken dancers dressed in bright silk.
"This is the amphitheater of the Gods," I said to myself, "and I am fortune's favourite child, camera or no camera; conviction or no conviction". I felt noble and generous and kind, as one can only feel when one is alone and happy. I'll go back from here to my old world, but live a new life. I was loved by those whom I loved, and while that's common enough, it's still a precious gift. But I had traded not only in love, but also in pettiness and hurt. I looked back and felt a tinge of regret. What do we all fight over? Aren't we a part of the same Life force that courses through this pika's wild veins; and keeps these shrubs alive through ice and wind and storm, to flower anew every spring? And what good is this human mind if it cannot step back and see itself a part of all this? We all know this, of course. But knowlege is not action, or as old JK would put it, ideation is not perception, whatever that means.
Yet now, that old combative, divisive narrow self was gone forever, for how can all this beauty and majesty fail to transform one? Surely, I had been touched somewhere deep down, below the turbulent surface of thought with its restless waves of words and principles and morals and judgement. I was now the world and the world was me. At that moment, I effortlessly forgave all who had wronged me. Better, I forgave also those whom I had wronged. I'll go back, and "hold brotherly speech, with those whose hearts I hadn't hoped to reach". I'll apologize. No, why should anyone apologize? I was no longer the man who had wronged them. That man was gone, and we, as friends, would laugh together at his folly.
And then I blushed, as the silliness and pompous sentimentality of it all struck me. "Forgiveness, meta-forgiveness, meta-meta-forgiveness. Wisdom, meta-wisdom, meta-meta-wisdom, and onward ad infinitum. All hail King B., Crown Prince of Amateur Philosophers and soupy teenage girls!". I gave myself a mock bow. I blushed, but I was more amused than embarassed. I started afresh on the trail.
And then I noticed the tall white guy walking up the trail. He was actually a bit fat, but in that strange way of middle-aged white people, he looked healthy for it. He flashed a broad grin at me. "Hi". I smiled back. "Hi". He stopped near me.
"Beautiful day for a hike, huh?"
"Yup. Great day. You planning to camp up here?"
"Yeah. Am doing the whole loop trail. 25 miles round trip. Should be done by tomorrow."
"Well. I should have backpacked too, but haven't done it before. Didn't want to take any risks alone."
"Yeah. That's always better. But you could have tried it here. There's always someone around."
"I realized that too late. Saw a guy with a couple of kids going up just now. You'll meet them soon. I'm heading back to the campground."
"You've got about one and a half hours of light. You'll get there."
"Hope so."
I was beginning to get worried about reaching back before dark. I was about to leave. But he just stood there. Looked like he wanted to talk.
"Where are you from?"
"Atlanta."
"No, before that."
"Oh, India"
"If I may ask, what religion do you follow?"
"I'm a, er, Hindu. You know? We worship in temples. There are some in the US too."
"Yeah, I know Hindooism. You worship Sheeva, don't you?"
"Yup, and a few others. We are polytheist"
"How long have you been in the US?"
"Five years now"
"Do you like it?"
"Love it."
"If I may ask, have you been exposed to Christianity?"
[Oh no, one of those. Damn!] "Well, a little. I've read a couple of books in the New Testament"
"What have you heard or read?"
"This and that. I've read the Sermon on the Mount. It is very beautiful. But otherwise, I haven't read much."
"Have you ever felt a calling to convert?"
"No. I'm not very religious, but I think I prefer Hinduism"
"Why?"
"Well. There's this business of the soul, only humans have it and stuff. Where I come from, we believe all creation is equal. Not really in practice, perhaps. But at least in theory."
"But how can you say that? The God our Lord gave you a soul. He loves you. He made all this, [looking around tenderly] the mountains, the animals, the lovely sunset for you. He wants you to save your soul by returning His love, and turning to Him."
"Yeah, that's what bothers us. This creation in seven days, and the human soul and free will and all that. Our theory is that this sunset, that mountain, that moose, everything, is God. And we don't have anything that they don't have. It kind of ties in with our notion of rebirth."
[anguished] "But, but, you can't really believe that. Saying you have no soul is like closing your door on God. He loves this Earth, but he loves you more. You are his child."
"Well, maybe. But anyway, that's what we believe. I guess I'll get going now."
"Just a minute. What's your name, brother?"
"B____"
"Pat-rick?"
"Yeah. Patrick".
"Well, Patrick! Can I pray for you?"
"Sure. That'll be nice."
He took my hands in his and closed his eyes and prayed. He wanted God to open my eyes and all that. I'm sure it was very touching--their prayers usually are--but I didn't really listen. I stood there, partly resentful, partly grateful, partly touched, but mostly worried about getting back. He was done. He opened his eyes.
"Thank you. That was very kind of you"
"Thank you, Patrick, for letting me pray for you. The Lord loves you. You will turn to Him. I can see that. You are deep down a believer."
"Let's hope so. Bye."
"See you. Head back quickly. It'll be dark soon. Do you want some water?"
"No, thanks. I have plenty left"
"Don't worry. Once you reach Jenny Lake, you'll see the campground lights anyway. God Bless you, Brother."
And then we each turned our way.
If it happened today, we'd both have felt contempt (or pity, which is really the same thing anyway)--I for his nosiness and ignorance, he for my stubborn lack of faith. (I'd definitely have said Dhoda, vanduchi paaru, moonja tookinu. Savugrakki.) Even that day, we both thought, knew, that the other was wrong. But it seemed natural that he should be what he is, and I what I am. I still looked down on him, but somehow it didn't matter. I like to think it didn't matter to him either. For that day, we were both too high up to bother with disagreements.
Mountains do that to people.
-- The Diary, August 1st, 504 BC
It was a pika. At least that's what it most closely resembled, of the ten or so "common wildlife" pictures on the trail map. It was barely 15 feet from the trail. I switched on the camera as quietly as I could. It whirred on, sternly said LOW BATTERY and went to sleep again. I swore under my breath. Third wildlife sighting in camera range and second time this damn thing had to die. I cursed myself for not charging it daily. Why couldn't I be more organized?
Then I smiled at my own dissatisfaction, and looked at the pika. It now had its back to me. Slowly, it walked away. I decided to sit on a little rock by the trail. All around me were peaks rising up a few hundred feet. Well, they really were 8000 feet or more from ground level, but I was in a kind of high valley. The trail had been steep--nearly 1500 feet in barely 5 miles and then half-a-mile on this flatland surrounded by sharp high peaks. And so is life, I wistfully thought. In youth, the mind courts steep slopes, for it aims high. It strives and suffers, but marches on. But eventually the climb is too steep, the current too fast. The mind tires and compromises. It creates some comfortable niche, fills it with some Ism or the other, and fits in with the world. No wonder all these poetic birds go on and on about the glory of Youth.
I shrugged and looked around. The mountain air was keen, all around was quiet. This place was above the tree line. Only shrubs grew here, humble yet hardy foot-soldiers that could live through the fierce winter. But now it was summer, and the air was pleasantly warm. This little cup in the mountains brimmed over with the soft light of the evening sun. Touched by the sun's tender caress, the glacial ice on the mountain-tops shimmered happily, and a gold-edged cloud above looked down fondly on the scene. (More-puddle-than-)Lake Solitude lay before me. Her clear surface reflected the gently glowing peaks--she borrowed thier splendor and showed it off as her own. Around the lake, the dense shrubs simmered bright green. There were some wildflowers, not pretty in isolation, but achieving beauty through numbers. Swept by the muffled breeze, they swayed with slow grace, like drunken dancers dressed in bright silk.
"This is the amphitheater of the Gods," I said to myself, "and I am fortune's favourite child, camera or no camera; conviction or no conviction". I felt noble and generous and kind, as one can only feel when one is alone and happy. I'll go back from here to my old world, but live a new life. I was loved by those whom I loved, and while that's common enough, it's still a precious gift. But I had traded not only in love, but also in pettiness and hurt. I looked back and felt a tinge of regret. What do we all fight over? Aren't we a part of the same Life force that courses through this pika's wild veins; and keeps these shrubs alive through ice and wind and storm, to flower anew every spring? And what good is this human mind if it cannot step back and see itself a part of all this? We all know this, of course. But knowlege is not action, or as old JK would put it, ideation is not perception, whatever that means.
Yet now, that old combative, divisive narrow self was gone forever, for how can all this beauty and majesty fail to transform one? Surely, I had been touched somewhere deep down, below the turbulent surface of thought with its restless waves of words and principles and morals and judgement. I was now the world and the world was me. At that moment, I effortlessly forgave all who had wronged me. Better, I forgave also those whom I had wronged. I'll go back, and "hold brotherly speech, with those whose hearts I hadn't hoped to reach". I'll apologize. No, why should anyone apologize? I was no longer the man who had wronged them. That man was gone, and we, as friends, would laugh together at his folly.
And then I blushed, as the silliness and pompous sentimentality of it all struck me. "Forgiveness, meta-forgiveness, meta-meta-forgiveness. Wisdom, meta-wisdom, meta-meta-wisdom, and onward ad infinitum. All hail King B., Crown Prince of Amateur Philosophers and soupy teenage girls!". I gave myself a mock bow. I blushed, but I was more amused than embarassed. I started afresh on the trail.
And then I noticed the tall white guy walking up the trail. He was actually a bit fat, but in that strange way of middle-aged white people, he looked healthy for it. He flashed a broad grin at me. "Hi". I smiled back. "Hi". He stopped near me.
"Beautiful day for a hike, huh?"
"Yup. Great day. You planning to camp up here?"
"Yeah. Am doing the whole loop trail. 25 miles round trip. Should be done by tomorrow."
"Well. I should have backpacked too, but haven't done it before. Didn't want to take any risks alone."
"Yeah. That's always better. But you could have tried it here. There's always someone around."
"I realized that too late. Saw a guy with a couple of kids going up just now. You'll meet them soon. I'm heading back to the campground."
"You've got about one and a half hours of light. You'll get there."
"Hope so."
I was beginning to get worried about reaching back before dark. I was about to leave. But he just stood there. Looked like he wanted to talk.
"Where are you from?"
"Atlanta."
"No, before that."
"Oh, India"
"If I may ask, what religion do you follow?"
"I'm a, er, Hindu. You know? We worship in temples. There are some in the US too."
"Yeah, I know Hindooism. You worship Sheeva, don't you?"
"Yup, and a few others. We are polytheist"
"How long have you been in the US?"
"Five years now"
"Do you like it?"
"Love it."
"If I may ask, have you been exposed to Christianity?"
[Oh no, one of those. Damn!] "Well, a little. I've read a couple of books in the New Testament"
"What have you heard or read?"
"This and that. I've read the Sermon on the Mount. It is very beautiful. But otherwise, I haven't read much."
"Have you ever felt a calling to convert?"
"No. I'm not very religious, but I think I prefer Hinduism"
"Why?"
"Well. There's this business of the soul, only humans have it and stuff. Where I come from, we believe all creation is equal. Not really in practice, perhaps. But at least in theory."
"But how can you say that? The God our Lord gave you a soul. He loves you. He made all this, [looking around tenderly] the mountains, the animals, the lovely sunset for you. He wants you to save your soul by returning His love, and turning to Him."
"Yeah, that's what bothers us. This creation in seven days, and the human soul and free will and all that. Our theory is that this sunset, that mountain, that moose, everything, is God. And we don't have anything that they don't have. It kind of ties in with our notion of rebirth."
[anguished] "But, but, you can't really believe that. Saying you have no soul is like closing your door on God. He loves this Earth, but he loves you more. You are his child."
"Well, maybe. But anyway, that's what we believe. I guess I'll get going now."
"Just a minute. What's your name, brother?"
"B____"
"Pat-rick?"
"Yeah. Patrick".
"Well, Patrick! Can I pray for you?"
"Sure. That'll be nice."
He took my hands in his and closed his eyes and prayed. He wanted God to open my eyes and all that. I'm sure it was very touching--their prayers usually are--but I didn't really listen. I stood there, partly resentful, partly grateful, partly touched, but mostly worried about getting back. He was done. He opened his eyes.
"Thank you. That was very kind of you"
"Thank you, Patrick, for letting me pray for you. The Lord loves you. You will turn to Him. I can see that. You are deep down a believer."
"Let's hope so. Bye."
"See you. Head back quickly. It'll be dark soon. Do you want some water?"
"No, thanks. I have plenty left"
"Don't worry. Once you reach Jenny Lake, you'll see the campground lights anyway. God Bless you, Brother."
And then we each turned our way.
If it happened today, we'd both have felt contempt (or pity, which is really the same thing anyway)--I for his nosiness and ignorance, he for my stubborn lack of faith. (I'd definitely have said Dhoda, vanduchi paaru, moonja tookinu. Savugrakki.) Even that day, we both thought, knew, that the other was wrong. But it seemed natural that he should be what he is, and I what I am. I still looked down on him, but somehow it didn't matter. I like to think it didn't matter to him either. For that day, we were both too high up to bother with disagreements.
Mountains do that to people.
17 comments:
You're getting senti in your old age. Too much of the new age stuff, realization and all, and definitely sentimental... but good. I'll put the sentimentality that you felt in those mountains down to the fact that you were going through some changes at that time (no not those changes..., good changes).
All that magnanimity and understanding doesn't become you, need the old stiff upper lip, sneer-at-nature-and-see-the-flaws attitude.
L~ T~
L~ T~
Easy for you to say, my man. You are the Lord of the Ring. We single guys can't afford to be so blase' about things. All this Me-Tarzan-You-Jane stuff is passe'. The New Woman digs sensitive types. I'm creating a new imaginary childhood for myself full of saved rosepetals, love failures, dew drops like angel's tears, cherished earrings stolen on wedding nights, and so on. Kindly go do your disgusting male bonding with someone else.
PS: Do you think I should create a drug-addict big brother character or not? Most people I knew were Amrish Puri types, but trouble is they are squeaky clean.
Everybody is sort of ignorant of their ignorance of sorts, until they move from one level of ignorance into another plane (not necessarily but hopefully higher) of ignorance.
I like your ending.
s.
You worship Sheeva, don't you?"
"Yup, and a few others. We are polytheist"
If I were a Shaivite, I would say 'Shiva shiva'. And you hope to nail an iyengar chick after this? Fie, cousin, fie
Hey B,
an excellent post..I am amazed by how you manage to convey philosphy through humour so effortlessly. Really loved these lines:
"In youth, the mind courts steep slopes, for it aims high. It strives and suffers, but marches on. [..]No wonder all these poetic birds go on and on about the glory of Youth."
O plan to shamelessly quote these [with due credit] unless you ask me not too.
@s,
thanks. in its own way, there was something quite moving about the chap's faith. isn't a bad thing to have, even if one got some "ignorance" in the bargain. at any rate, knowledge is vastly overrated.
little sister,
the "iyengar chick" is old news. flavor of the month is a maharashtrian, and i even know this one's name. rejoice for me, sister. the only thing now standing between me and bliss is her boyfriend.
and i'm telling everyone you used the S word, TWICE. Narayana.
sn,
i didn't realize you read this stuff. my publicity machine worketh overtime :-)
anyway, thanks much for your comment. i'm all ablush. and of course, go ahead and quote anything you liked. much honored, in fact.
oh... i see youve edited the diary extract - i liked the earlier version. this one is uncannily near sober sense :))
*rickety train of thought ahead*
the man's missionary zeal (though,as you say, touching in the circumstances) reminded me of this lovely one-liner i read a while back:
"missionaries provided cannibals with their first taste of religion."
:D
"she borrowed thier splendor and showed it off as her own"
well written, Patrick.
BTW you never write comments on my posts! *grump*!
nice post homi. keep it up.
@m.
what rot? are you suggesting that i edit the Diary? all i did was to refine the translation of the Prakrit original. the earlier one was a bit loony, and the Buddha, according to all available evidence, was most definitely not loony. today's youngsters, I tell you :-)
taste of religion, huh? good one :-)
@theDQ,
npr you drama queen. i left a comment just last month. and didn't i call after seeing one of your posts? rotter.
@jake,
thanks, my brother. i also saw your other comment. undrawyer is a good beginning. but it doesn't convey the quarter -ah- syllable between d and r. and the first r should be rougher than the second. how does one express this? these are important problems, problems that ought to be addressed by the best minds of our age. suggestions welcome.
@b
aye. they be problems. being a being of the undrawyer culture myself i just read it the way it is said. but a good attempt nonetheless, O buddha man. I would like end this comment by making some very deep sounding statement, something that alludes to the reason for the buddha's existence and the pursuit of perfection, and that even He neednt be perfect, cos if he were he wouldnt exist or some such thing. But as I read what I have written, its not deep. Not an inch. Think I should just shut up now. Yes.
hey! in a flash of brilliance quite unlike me, I got a soln to your problem. myabe you can give pronunciation keys to important words llike undrawyer. words that need to be pronounce the way they ought, to convey the right flavour. a subtext perhaps ?
Comrade b,
Methinks you are still too high up to bother.. which is ok cause all of us have perceptions of grandeur in our small insignificant heads. I say the whole purpose of philosophy is that we don't end up feeling like suckers in any situation.. ever.
jake,
thanks for the suggestion. but i don't think it's going to work. we are a doomed race. our culture will forever be unknown to speakers of the English tongue. free-a udu maplai. kadaikkama irukkkaradu kadaikkadu. kadaikkaradu kadaikkama irukkadu. yacchcha yacchacha, gacchacha gacchacha.
pinkmoon,
hmm. i don't think grand is exactly how i felt. didn't mean to sound pompous. but does it matter?
nearly a month into the post, and I'm disappointed. :) Not one comment about the title of the post... Philistines! B. thanks for the title. :)
~sale
saale, my man,
thanks. at last somebody noticed. i was going put up a comment myself under the name sasikala :-)
and i didn't understand the bit about phaedrus. something to do with that ghastly motorcycle book, i assume.
What do you call someone who is at first old and then young? I was old yesterday, I gave up reading your post and went to bed. Today I became young as I strived to successfully read it.
Oh Master forgive me even if you're not Leo. People lose focus. What am I to do? Your abundant knowledge is overwhelming my head. You are the one with answers and I with questions. But if you ask questions, who am I to answer?
I've tried what I can and have come up with this.
The Signified: Knowledge, ideas
The Signifier: Action, perception
Oh Master, if you ask me, one cannot but agree with Lila in calling Phaedrus an airhead. Yet again airheads are popular in their own sense.
Oh but if White men preach,
Brown men don't breach,
In turn they too teach,
What they learnt from the Western beach.
Signed,
ACB
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