Nature, and Why I Watch It On Discovery Channel

So, bhikku! I hear you want to be one with Nature. It's easy. Just go into the wild. Nature will take care of the rest.

-- The Diary, Winter 516 BC

Even a confirmed jackass like you, gentle reader, cannot help but notice that this urban life is a sordid mess. First, there is the noise and the pollution. Then there's the crowd: all through the day, one is plagued by vile reptiles from management and marketing. Worse, when these leave one alone, one has to deal with brown people, a most revolting bunch who spend all their time discussing the Aryan invasion theory and cheap telephone deals to Brownistan. Out in the country, one can at least feel like a Real Man by beating one's wife. But in the city, wife-beating is unfashionable, and one is forced to watch football instead.

It is, you will agree, a most unwholesome state of affairs. Of course, the poor don't have time to bother about all this, because being miserable is a full-time job. At any rate, the poor aren't educated and they know nothing about anything. But you and I, gentle reader, are enlightened types who read and write blogs. We go to Art of Living classes, and we've learned terms like Stress Management, All-round Personality Development and Quality Time. So we know that we need a break from our daily travails. And since we can afford it, we go off into Nature for reflection and renewal. We are children of a Brave New World, one that sees no reason to bow to season. If we want to vacation in winter, we will use snowbikes; and if they disturb wildlife, what of it? We want to be one with Nature, and it is but fair that we go some distance for it and make Nature travel the rest.

Which is all very well.

Except that Nature is always trying to bite, scratch, poison, piss on, cripple, torture, maim or murder those who seek to commune with her. It is nothing personal, mind you. It is just Nature's nature.

Having narrowly escaped Nature on many an occasion, I write here a lament and a warning. I will probably not survive my next camping trip; but I hope, gentle reader, that for a long time to come, these portentous words will protect Nature and you from from each other. Remember, the common man only enjoys other people's suffering. But the wise man also learns from it.

Adios.

Memories Of A Retreat

Corporate games I had played,
And ruthless cunning displayed.
I was master of free trade,
A huge stash o' cash I'd made.

But the city ate my soul,
It's a vile festering hole.
In each lane, 'neath ev'ry pole,
Lurks a foul stinkin' asshole.

For peace and quiet I pined,
To many a cove I whined.
One such cove, P of keen mind,
The way out wisely divined.

"My boy, we can't take the grind,
We are just way too refined.
So leys leave the mob behind.
Solace in Nature we'll find."

P's intellect is renowned.
Legends of his beans abound.
The answer he'd surely found,
So jungleward we were bound.

It was a loverly spring morn,
And before the crack of dawn,
Ere yet the day was full born,
To wilderness' heart we'd gone.

Cooed we in poetic delight,
"Do you smell that pink sunlight?"
"The roses, they sound just right"
"And yon crows' song feels so bright."

The musical crows then grouped,
Up they soared and down they swooped,
And on our heads they poooped.
Our spirits, they slightly drooped.

"Here's water. Wash up!", piped P.
"For wee pee, be not weepy.
Rolling stones, my man, let's be.
I'm told they gather no pee."

What a wonderful calm head!
Wiser words have not been said,
We had a long path to tread,
Aye, 'twas time to march ahead.

We'd walked awhile when I spied,
A lovely bird, Nature's pride.
"Ahoy! Bird ahead", I cried.
"Look, right there, by the trailside."

Before he could get a view,
Into the thicket it flew.
We scampered after it too,
As all real men would do.

"There, see it? It is a finch"
"No, a lark. It is a cinch."
"Oh! come on! don't be a grinch"
"That's you, not me. Hey, don't pinch"

Twasn't a pinch, but a sting.
A wasp, bee or some such thing.
Out we ran, like Milkha Singh,
Nay faster: we'd bugs chasing.

Then he spake, P, wise teacher,
"B., my boy! This is nature.
This bug's really a feature.
Remember! It's God's creature!"

Thusly went the entire day,
Oft we bled; our nerves did fray,
But we kept Nature at bay.
'Twas heroic, I must say.

'Neath fiery sun did we tramp,
And at dusk, we set up camp.
Then Nature sent rain (the vamp),
Leaving the tent rather damp.

Nature thought rain would nettle,
Ha! She knew us but little.
We are men of great mettle,
Strapping lads, in fine fettle.

Said we, "How hard Nature tries"
And smiling, we shut our eyes.
Then, Nature threw her last dice,
She'd tried heat, now she tried ice.

Dante, who's admired a lot,
Declares, "Hell is very hot"
If I may say so, that's rot.
I've camped in cold, he has not.

Better verse Dante may write,
But he's wrong, and I am right:
Fire is cool, and pain is trite,
The real deal's a cold night.

Though P has a ghastly mug,
Some chaps might, with a cool shrug,
Have given him a tight hug,
Just to be a bit more snug.

But I'm as straight as a log.
Anyway, after the day's slog,
The man stank like a damn bog.
I'd rather have snogged a hog.

We broke camp just before dawn,
It was a loverly spring morn,
Ere yet the day was full born,
Back into town we had gone.

It is true: Nature can thrill,
And the city's a dunghill,
But I'll take the city still,
At least, the city doesn't kill.