(c) John, Rekesh 2004-2008. No part of this work may be copied or reproduced without the author's permission
1. Initiation
The beginning.
She ran out and into the woods, hair flowing wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing, arms flailing as her legs sought to carry her to the solace of her favorite abode in the heart of the woods.
And as she ran she wept, “Mother, oh, Mother, where are you? Why do you not help me? Do you not see that I am loveless and forsaken? How could you leave me and go away? Mother, where are you? What have I done to deserve this?”
She shouted as she ran and then threw herself down onto the grass, her body wrenched with sobs. There she lay, in a collapsed bundle, unable to think anymore, as she felt the very agony of being coursing through her. A long wail arose, which became a moan that persisted until it was swamped by the wind.
Time and again she called out, “Mother! Mother! Where are you?” The silence in between her wails was broken only by the quiet, rustling sound of the wind as it swept through the grass and the cry of a lark somewhere close. Her body shook and shivered as she gave in to the very depth of her emotions, and the hurt within flowed out freely in abandon. And there arose in her a simple, but deep, burning question: “Why?” It seemed to come forth and explode within, as she gave way to the deepest existential sorrow that she had ever experienced.
As she lay in that sunlit clearing in the woods, a hush seemed to come over the land. It was as if the whole universe paused to listen to her plaintive cry, for what came from her soul was something much deeper.
She arose, turned her face towards the heavens, and shouted as she addressed the powers that be: “Why me? Who am I? What am I doing here? Can you hear me?”
Out poured a barrage of accusations and questions from her very being, as if she sought to elicit some kind of a response or help from the heavens. She desperately hoped for a miracle, that something would happen and she would be free of her misery. But no angel appeared to comfort her, nor did any voice speak to answer her troubles. No one came searching for her and nobody seemed to even care that she existed, so complete was her feeling of desolation.
The light started to fade and thunder clapped in the distance. Standing knee deep in the grass, staring up and screaming something incomprehensible, her hair and dress flowing in the wind, she appeared a wild and strange figure to the first drops of rain that descended from the heavens. And the rain poured down incessantly, painting the landscape gray as drop after drop landed in a steady stream on her face, mingling with her tears. The wind grew stronger and beat against her body, threatening to push her down into the grass.
She refused to budge, and set her face against the sky, a deep determination stealing into her being.
“I will not let you go without an answer,” she screamed, as she pointed an accusing finger right into the heavens. “I am like the grass of the earth, trodden underfoot and crushed by everything that goes by. My roots are small, and I am but little, but I am no less determined than this grass at my feet. You have no wind strong enough to break me. No matter what you do to me, I shall rise up again and again and again, until you are forced to acknowledge me and give me what I seek. You cannot crush me forever, mow me down, burn me in fire or spoil me in desolation, for I shall rise again and demand of you my justice. What I do is right in my sight, and nothing you can tell me will ever convince me otherwise.”
Shouts, accusations, frustration and fury followed one another as she poured them out into the universe and to her God, as her emotions churned into a single timeless moment of outrage. Her voice seemed to rise high above the rain, wind and the thunder, as it sought the highest heavens, looking for someone or something to smother in turn with its own burst of thunder.
But the very next moment, the futility of her outburst struck her so hard that she dropped her chin and collapsed once more to the ground, a sobbing, whimpering bundle in the grass. And there she lay, for a long time, eyes closed, the spasms in her body becoming ever more infrequent as they melted away into a gentle silence. The rain too stopped pouring, becoming a drizzle that soon thinned out further and disappeared. And there she lay for a very long time.
The sunlight was again streaming through the clearing as she sat up and looked around. Something had changed. She felt a calm stillness within as she surveyed her surroundings. Everything around her seemed somehow more alive than before. Perhaps the colors were more vibrant, the textures sharper, the smell of the woods stronger, the cry of the lark sweeter, for it seemed that every feature of the landscape seemed to vie for her attention.
She did not analyze it, but simply sat there, still drenched, as a gentle, comforting solace seeped in from all around. It was as though Mother Nature were holding her in her bosom, and comforting her through her sorrow. She basked in that rarely felt solace, all thought of sorrow at bay, and she breathed in life and breathed out her worries. She felt a strange kinship, a kind of compassion within, as she looked at the grass she had identified with in her outburst.
“We are a lot like each other,” she told the grass, and was surprised at the new clarity with which she could observe it. The blades all seemed to stand out, each like an individual, as they all grew in profusion in various paths, and bent and moved in the wind. The shoots that grew forth and held seed pods or flowers looked like giant trees against the blue sky. The soil looked like a vast terrain, little pebbles like big rocks, rivulets of water like rivers, as the grass suddenly became a forest, vibrant and alive, teeming with life. Drops of water on the grass echoed the sun a million-fold, like an all-embracing cosmic presence. And they all seemed to want to say something, as if they had many a story to tell.
But other than the strange wonder that filled her, there was nothing she could understand from what she observed and felt, except for a curious sense of deep connection with all around her. They evoked a response in her heart, and tears came as she looked around. Not only, she felt, was the grass like her, but also the rocks, the trees, the lark and even the sky. Her sense of compassion extended itself to everything around her, and she identified with it and tried to experience the world as it did. Everything around seemed a reflection of herself, innocent, trusting, having no purpose, no plan and direction, having no choice – but just being what they were, singing their song.
It was again a long time before she stood up and walked back home. The sun was setting, and she was no further from her confusion than before, but inwardly there was a peculiar contentment. The day had evoked a strange magic in her heart, creating a deepened sense of connection with nature.
That day she had found the Mother she had missed so much in her life. From now on Mother Earth would be her mother always. In her she was to find comfort, solace, and soon, instruction. Time and again she was to rush back to her mother whenever things seemed to go wrong, events took a depressing turn, and life seemed to impose such a heavy burden that nothing seemed to offer any meaning or purpose. Her great escape was into the bosom of her mother, where she sought to understand and make sense of what happened around her. It would be still many years before she found her Father, and many more before she found herself. For the path from motherly love and fatherly correction to a flowering maturity is a long, arduous path and there was much she was yet to discover and learn in the hands of time, as it seemed to stretch, draw out, spin and weave into a tapestry, the very essence of her being.
It was to be a long journey into herself.
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