Up in the hills the days where growing brighter and some
days shadows almost reappeared as the day tried to break
away from the night. Soon the shadows started moving
again, recreating age-old rituals in honor of the sun that
danced in the vanishing morning mist.
I had longed for spring to return during the cold winter
months. Longed for the first warmth of the sun to stop me in
my tracks whenever it reached my face through the canopy
only to be overwhelmed by the return of the smell of the
trees and of the soil coming back to me together with a
wave of memories. Long forgotten in the absence of scent,
renewed and intensified as they returned from the dark and
entangled mess where they had dwelled.
They let me remember a time when I was first drawn to the
trees and the rivers and the hills that surrounded the world
that I was living in. Like a backdrop they were always there,
slightly out of reach, as a world apart from the world that I
lived in. A backdrop that fenced me in and provided shelter,
a comforting landscape that pacified and engaged me at the
same time, leaving me for a long time content with merely
observing the world.
For a long time the serenity of the trees, sometimes given
life by the wind, lulled me into a pleasant state of ignorance
and warmth that made me feel significant and led me to
believe that I could claim ownership of this illustrious secret
that was hidden from the rest of the world due to their
collective blindness.
It felt as if there was something out there that I lacked
access to. Something that I didn’t know of, that called out to
me, like a barely noticeable pulse beckoning for me to break
out of the benign comfort of my protected existence.
As I grew older I would go as close to the border as I dared,
moving in a stealth-like fashion, hoping not to get noticed as
I approached. Hoping to steal a glimpse of the uncharted
territory before running back to safety again and the empty
comfort of my home.
As I grew bolder I allowed myself to carefully merge with the
dimness of the trees, crossing the invisible borders between
my domesticated life and the unknown wilderness.
Little by little I eased my way further into the depths of the
forest where I found pieces of the civilization that dwelled
there as I discovered tracks and footpaths that emerged
from the undergrowth only to disappear into nothingness.
For a long time I was terrified of the nothingness, terrified of
the void that contained some haunting presence that I could
not name nor understand.
It would not show itself and I could not bring myself to sit
down and wait for it to step out of the shadows.
So I moved on, looking over my shoulder as I went along,
half expecting to catch a glimpse of some prehistoric
predator, a resurrected sabertooth tiger silently following
me, waiting for the right moment to attack.
But the attack never came and in my curiosity I tried to enter
the void to search for this thing that followed me. But the
void was ́nt there when I started searching for it, the
nothingness wasn’t there, only more world to be explored.
Still, there was something out there that haunted me,
something that kept me on my toes, something terrifying
that kept me moving.
And as time went by I slowed down and found a different
pace. I started looking at the world with different eyes and I
finally took the time to listen to the world around me.
Long had I been oblivious to the absence of sound in the
same way that I was oblivious to the monotonous drone of
the world that had surrounded me for as long as I had lived.
Only now in its absence had I come to know it.
And so as I slowly tuned in to this new found pulse, merging
with the void to become a part of the nothingness, I came to
love the silence in the same way that I loved the trees and
the rivers and the hills.
With time I learned to walk quietly, moving between the
trees with ghostly ease without disturbing the silence that
embraced my presence.
Soon I became good at sneaking up on roes resting through
the day, hidden in the tall grass which they would explode
out off, leaving their comfort and safety behind. They
disappeared almost faster than I could lay my eyes on them
as they headed for another refuge.
I spent days stalking them, mapping out how they moved
through the forest, discovering were they would graze in the
morning and when they would come out at night.
I can still feel the warm evening breeze sliding past me as I
waited for them to appear.
As spirits they would drift out from the thick of the forest.
Without a sound they gathered calmly to feed as the sun
barely disappeared beneath the horizon. Leaving me with
the smell of the soil and the feeling of damp cloth sticking to
my back, shuddering as day disembarked and night fell
around me. Before she yet again started her climb towards
day.
I would retreat from my lookout point and slowly stumble
through a forest clad in shadows and dust. Moving beneath
limb-like branches, half expecting them to come alive, to
claw at me and hold me down. I held my breath without
realizing it until I broke from cover and returned to my
regulated sphere.
As the anxiety left my body, it left me embarrassed over my
childish fear of shadows and fantasy and reminded me that I
was not of that world any more than I was of this.
From time to time I would experience these moments of
defeat as if the forest materialized into an entity working
against me, making it impossible to cross the rivers or climb
the slopes. Sometimes she weaved the undergrowth tighter
together as if she wanted to lock me out of this sanctuary
that I craved more and more each time I dived into it in my
attempts at finding its midst.
She would cast me out as forcefully as I tried to claim my
place in this world, leaving me to regroup and gather both
wits and strength, despairing in my lack of connectedness.
I walked trough the world with my eyes from then on, lifting
my head to observe, to read the patterns and follow the
lines previously hidden from me in my effort of moving
without a sound.
With time I learned to move quietly through the world whilst
keeping my head up, observing as I went along. No longer
blind I could feel the ground as I moved forward, assessing
the strength of a branch with my feet before laying my
weight on it. I mapped out ways through the marshes by the
way they smelled and felt before wading across and soon
the silence of the forest became a language that would tell
me of rainfall and storms and warm weather to come.
My senses would draw me to places I did not know existed,
leading me to explore caverns and canyons were the water
and the rivers through thousands of years had dug deeper
and deeper into the ground. Leading me to waterfalls hiding
beneath the soil, making me follow rivers up canyons to find
Sand Martins burrowing in the banks of the river.
From time to time I would bring others. Newborns that didn’t
know how to behave in this world of mine, who disturbed the silence and ignored the signs and the rules that I had made
for myself.
They shouted, sang and laughed and I joined them as we
ran as fast as our feet could carry us, dodging branches and
wading across rivers and creeks, looking for adventures and
bragging rights.
We found pools and waterfalls where we would cool off and
ledges that we forced each other to jump off of, pushing
past our boundaries.
I felt older than them, older and wiser, because I was old in
this world and they were not. Still I didn’t try to raise them or
educate them. I half expected them to follow me, to follow
my ways of conduct but they would not and in stead of
leading it was I who tagged along.
So I followed an unlikely leader through territory which I had mapped out, which I knew every inch of. Yet, I stayed quiet and I did´nt point out the mistakes that were made. I accepted them as my own and that this new way of looking at things were the right one at that it was I who was backwards and that my rules and my way of reading the land were and and awkward and false. It was they who owned the world then and they explored it like children who had just learned to walk. Seeking to dominate their surroundings rather than to merge with them. Whenever a roe broke for cover they would chase it and I would too. Shouting as we ran a long, cutting our legs and chins on branches and nettles that we plowed through on our heedless spring after an animal that was long gone even before we started our merry chase.
Some days we would fight amongst ourselves. Vicious fistfights with no holds barred. Fights for no apparent reason which I soon gave up on as I had already accepted my place.
I did´nt belong at the top of the world I told myself as well as having it pointed out by others. My place was down the ladder, down there in the heather and the moss and the dirt. Most days we would stalk through the woods like Chingachgook and Uncas and Hawkeye, looking for prey and enemies alike. Wansdering through the woods as frontiersmen, pretending that our forest was another a world away,centuries ago. As if our own frontier was not amazing enough in its own right. We would crawl through the undergrowth, hiding and waiting to ambush our enemy, armed with sticks and knives. Sometimes we could see them in the shadows and sometimes we could hear them in the distance but they never emerged and eventually we laid down our arms and as the darkness descended upon us we gazed into the endless night, letting the vastness engulf us and leaving us scared to death with the uncomfortable notion of how small we really were. “Do you think you could stand it?” Uncas asked me the last time we laid here looking back in time, “do you think you could stand this uncertainty without knowing that you could end it at any given time?” I had no answer for him then an he never waited for my reply. We left the forest soon after and let life continue for a while, somehow. Without a care in the world we would wrap bottles of wine in pieces of cloth and carry them in silence past the unwatchfull eyes of our fathers.
later we would drink them in celebration of the endless nights of the arctic summer. Passing them form hand to hand as we danced around the bonfires as if we were the first of our kin to conquer the fire. The flames cast our dancing shadows again the surrounding rocks, projecting them onto the world as they conjured arcane images of ageless rituals, impressions of lives that were slowly loosing their beat. Somestimes I dream that they are still there. our dancing shadows, lingering through a ling days night like living petroglyphs. Waiting for the flame to be rekindled so that our shadows can continue their dance. But we left the fires and the shadows, and the dance changed as we continuously rambled on through the shifting seasons. Through days and years as we unknowingly waited to be scattered by the wind, waiting to be swept up by a mind numbing machinery that would grind us down to beings that did little more than exist. Still there was life and love and wonders to discover but I was trapped in my lack of significance, fighting for a lost cause against a creature that ate away at my past and my future. Leaving the present painfully aware of societies disdain as the came calling for me. I started carrying a torch then and I held it high to show strength even though it weighed me down and in the end it forced me to pause long enough to make me realize that I no longer liked what I saw. When winter came I returned to walk the rivers again. Peering through the glasslike sheet before the first snow fell, marveling at the water falls trying to understand how they could freeze that fast. Like a picture, frozen in time. I would sit down beneath them and listen to the unearthly sounds as the ice grew thicker while looking down at the unreachable world beneath me. It seemed so quiet down there. The ravens and the crows would flock together when the cold set in. They chattered amongst themselves and shared news of carrion and calling out the saddest of songs. I would call them and they answered. Some came to see who this new and strange crow was only to return disappointed from their flight . I called them still, trying to find a bond that was´nt there. When I found their feast I would sit down and watch them pecking and chasing each other away, harassing falcons and hawks alike. I loved them then, still I hated them in the spring when they raided the starlings nests and carried away the hatchlings and broke their eggs. I hated them when they destroyed the beauty of the world I had struggled so long to become a part of. I hated that the crows made it ugly, this garden of green and grayish hues. of light and shadow, dust and air. They made it something different than the stylized picture I had created during all my attempts of finding the centre of the world. It was clear to me then that I had to intervene.