19 Life in Abeyance
A great tiredness is upon me; I’ve spent the last week visiting people and receiving people here, having to repeat the same story, trying to keep the tale to the minimum. Ever since returning from Colombo it’s been difficult to regain momentum, too much to organise, too much chasing around to get back into the rhythm of the place. A depletion of mental energy has a physical effect too, the body feeling weak.
I put in some work, in desultory fashion this morning: some washing of clothes to be given away; cutting the grass, and thinking ‘why bother?’ the place will be abandoned once more when I go; inspecting the vegetable plot and realising nothing will be ready before I leave – hard to plant so much seed, to care for the crop, and never see the fruit.
Tired also because life is in abeyance; difficult to work up energy over something that’s ending, impossible to summon up energy over a life that hasn’t yet arrived, a kind of self-defeating limbo. The day is very long as I sit here morning, afternoon, and evening, but as long as I sit the butterflies dance in and out, up and around the garden, unoppressed by the cares that weigh men down.
have you ever cried
because of the loneliness and sorrow of life?
have you ever cried
at one with the suffering of another?
have you ever not cried
because the one who was with you was crying
and her tears were your tears?
have you ever cried at all?
It really is very beautiful here. Over the past week I’ve been able to share some of that beauty with the various people who have come here, most for the first time. You can see something in a totally different way when you see it through the eyes of another, but everyone who comes here comments on the beauty and timelessness of this place.
Today we had a light rain on and off, but never really achieving the soaking the ground needs after a week without rain. The sky is a deep blue, and the clouds white, and a water bearing grey, pass by overhead. The paddy and trees are that shiny green that only newly washed vegetation has. The air is cool and fresh, and the whole area is extraordinarily quiet – which doesn’t mean there’s no noise, man-made or otherwise, but that the silence enfolds the noise, somehow harmonising it. During or between the showers, the sun comes out lighting up the garden in shadow-patch fashion.
a beautiful still night
stars clear overhead
the southern cross, Orion,
borrowed light casting shadows
the moon is decreasing
and its waning will mark
my last night
in this place of wonder
gradually dawn arrives, stars fade,
and high in the sky two clouds
are lit up pastel pink
against a delicate blue backdrop
bamboo shimmers in silhouette
a light mist covers the fields
and from the garden comes
the sound of unfamiliar song
There is sometimes a snake in this garden, I saw him when I first moved in and went over to have a look; he turned out to be much bigger than I had anticipated, and from then on I took to carrying a torch in the dark, and being careful in long grass. I’ve seen him on occasion since then, and he’s probably been through here unobserved many times. I saw him from my window the other day, two babblers were demonstrating loudly no more than a couple of feet away from him, warning all who were listening. He slithered quietly along, his black tongue probing restlessly before him. I went out again to have a look at him as he went down the bank, and he’s now grown to six feet or more, and his beautifully patterned body is as thick as my arm. He is very stealthy as he moves along, quite unostentatious, obviously aware of his power and strength, finding it unnecessary to make a great show. He is, of course, the more dangerous the less he is seen.
the modern babel
here it is:
people looking for a sign
find too many signs
voices of many lands
cross and question
making sense of confusion
relationships
of various degrees
close and casual
form and reform
past present future
life a long line
a flight from birth to death
we come together
with separation in sight
speaking superficially
heading north
above the clouds
the sun white in setting
below
orange fire glows
clouds ripple
castles rise in the air
colours seen only here
light up the long horizon
I am breathless
at the beauty of creation