How Big Is The World?

 

 
            Once, a very long ago, there was a thoughtful child with open eyes.
            He, for in this case the child in question was a young fellow, was sitting on a nice smooth rock of just the right size to sit on, and he looked out over a vast landscape as he ate the bit of something his mother had made of corn meal and some sort of seeds. Chewing thoughtfully, it occurred to him to wonder about the nature of the place where he found himself.
            From his vantage point he saw the whole open arc of the deep blue sky like a bowl overhead. He saw that it reached clear to where it met the land at what we would call the horizon. Between himself and this horizon he saw the familiar landscape of his home, with its corn and pumpkin and bean fields nearby, but further out stretched an unimaginable depth of desert, rocks, and in the far distance some low hills.
            He went back to his mother where she was plucking the feathers from some fowl. She sat outside the doorway of the stone house where they lived.
            “Mother, what is this place called?” he said.
            “Village,” she said, in whatever language they spoke.
            “I mean all that I can see. All of it, not just our village,” he said. “There must be a word for all of it.”
            “See your father in the cornfield? Why don’t you run to him and ask him about this?” said the mother, who was busy, as always.
            His father, muscular and brown, not very old nor very tall, was stooped over encouraging a small stream of water to run between the stalks of corn.
            When the small boy found his father there, he said, “Father, what is the word for everything I see here, the sky and the land? The must be a word for everything.”
            The father regarded his small son, who was always asking questions, with sharp but kind black eyes. “We call it the world,” he said in whatever language his people used for all that they saw around themselves.
            “Father, how big is the world? If I walked to the furthest things I can see, like those hills which are the furthest away, is that the end of the world? Or does it go on?”
            “Our people walked from a place we can’t see from here, so the world is bigger than we can see,” he told the child.
            “Does the world go on forever, or does it end?” persisted the small boy.
            “You must ask the eagle, if he will speak with you,” laughed the father. “Eagle sees from the sky. Maybe he will tell you.”
            The child left his father to his work and walked the path to the top, above the village, clear out of the canyon. Looking into the empty sky he called, “Eagle, will you speak with me?” And then he waited. The sun beat down on his small black head and his narrow brown shoulders. After a while he saw something in the sky and it was coming closer and getting bigger. Soon he saw wings beating the air as the eagle flew.
            Eagle landed right beside the boy, and said, “I will speak with you. Do you have a question?”
            “Thank you for speaking with me, Eagle. Yes, I want to know if the world goes on forever, or if there is an end where it stops,” said the child.
            “I see,” said the eagle. “I can tell you this much, but no more. I have flown over the desert until it was forest land below me. I have followed rivers; I have seen the great deep waters from afar. I have seen no end to the world. But, you must remember that I have only seen as much as I have seen. You must ask one whose wisdom is deeper than mine.
            “There is an oracle of the great creator spirit in your very own village. She is a tiny little old woman married to your village elder man. You must ask her,” said the eagle, gaining altitude as he flew on his way.
            So, the child walked back down into the village. He was very happy to go back down into the shade in the canyon. It had been a long time since he had eaten his piece of cornbread. He was hungry, but he went anyhow to the elder man’s house. The old man was sleeping inside on his bed of woven hide and branches.
            The very tiny white-haired woman was sitting cross legged before a small fire. Sitting near the fire was an earthen pot of goat stew, with peppers and corn.  It smelled very good to the child.
            “Are you hungry, Grandson?” she asked when her bright eyes saw him approaching.
            “Yes, Elder Lady, I am,” said the boy.
            So, she served him some stew in a gourd bowl, and she watched him eat it all down. Then she said, “Do you have a question for me? There is a question all over your face, Child.”
            “Elder Lady, how big is the world, and does it go on forever, or does it end somewhere?” said the boy. “Eagle said that he has seen very far but he has not seen the end of it.”
            “Ah, three questions, within one question! Very good!” she chuckled.
            “You are the first to ask me this question. I will think for a moment,” she said.
            “Yes, Lady, I will wait,” said the boy.
            “Grandson, our village is a world, and it is inside the world of all that you see. All that you see is a world in a greater world. This greater world lives among the worlds of the heavens, and there is no end of worlds, dear boy. As to how big the world we stand on is, well perhaps some day it will be known,” she said.
            “Now, go back to your mother. She is looking for you. Also, there are some questions which you must ask the creator spirit. Then you must listen carefully for the answer in your heart.”
            “Yes, Elder Lady, I will remember,” he said.
            Then he went to his mother, who had been calling his name, and sat beside her while she worked at her cooking, for soon his father would come home and he would be hungry.

🌎

Writing on The Walls

 

            Talk about more questions than answers! I do have questions.

            The top photo is of Newspaper Rock, in Utah. Of course. The bottom shot was also taken in Utah I am pretty sure.

            Once you get used to seeing those images, they are everywhere.

            Things I wonder about:

            Same as everyone else, I wonder what was being expressed. Exultation of the hunt. Hopes for the hunt? Bragging rights?

            Soft goods. There had to be ephemera. What about that? What was it? Some of it we've seen and even have some samples. Clothing, sandals, baskets or pots, depending, weapons. 

            I try to guess why they inscribed footprints. Number of toes didn't seem to matter a lot. All the animal images make more intuitive sense, to me.

            More or less, all humans need some form of the same things. So, I try to apply that mindset to my imaginings. For instance, where did they bathe? Wash their clothing? Or did they wear more or less disposable stuff? What did they talk about in the evening? What did they feel or know about the rest of the world? Did they know much at all about the rest of the world?

            Just a few things I was thinking about. Please tell me what you think about writing on the walls. Was it an essential part of their lives, or just the last stuff to disappear?

🤎🌵🤎

Somebody Had To Ask Ralph

For demonstration purposes only!

            Just to backspace a little, you remember Dexter, Ranger Rick’s understudy, trainee Forest Ranger of course. As it happens Dexter had a hobby. When he wasn’t at the campground doing his lawful duties and chatting up Hannah, the camp host, he was exploring caves in the PNW.
            These are very special caves, tunnels in the lava flows of many moons ago. Where these caves or tunnels might be located is a separate story.
            Additionally, we know that Ralph likes to have a little chat with his friend Ranger Rick from time to time, and with luck, maybe the man would have some pastry to share too. Never a bad deal.
            So, with Alderheart, the tree spirit, safely tucked into a living column of the Alder Tree House and everything serene at home under the eye of Ramona, he decided to take a little stroll to the Ranger Station. It was a good way to catch up on the world a little, on Rick’s laptop computer.
            For Ralph, it’s a short and pleasant wander from the heart of the Great Forest, i.e. the Home Clearing, to the domain of Man, the Ranger Station and campground. It might take you or I a little longer and we might get lost. No matter.
        When he emerged from the woods, by the dumpster, he saw that Rick’s service vehicle was parked in its usual spot. He gave it a little smack on the hood. It was cold. Rick had been there for a while.
        Ralph gave a little knock on the office door to announce his arrival, opened it up and stuck his head in.
            “Rick! Are you in here?” he said.
            “Nope. I’m gone, Ralph,” said Rick.
            “Darn,” said Ralph, coming in and locating his buddy seated at his desk. He was watching something on the screen facing him.
            Ralph took a seat in the extra big chair facing Rick.
            “Whatcha watchin’?” said Ralph.
            “Some guy, this Canadian, talking about how you guys live in caves all over the country,” said Rick, turning the laptop around so Ralph could see too.
            Before either of them could say another word, Dexter, himself, came into the office. He startled a little when he saw Ralph, but not too badly. He had a box in his arms, just like about the right size to hold cookies.
            Dexter took a look at the screen and said, “I’ve seen that one. Hey, Hannah made cookies! Oatmeal, raisin, and walnut! Anybody brave enough to try them?”
            “Why, certainly, Dexter, my boy! Rustle us up some coffee, and we’ll all check them out," said Rick.
            “Hey, Ralph!” said Dexter. Then he went to the kitchen nook to make a new pot of coffee.
            “Dexter is a caver,” said Rick. Ralph raised his eyebrows and nodded.
            In about ten minutes all three were drinking coffee and sampling some of Hannah’s cookies. They must have been OK cookies because nobody was talking.
            “You should probably marry her,” said Rick. Dexter blushed.
            “That’s sort of the plan, once I get her to agree,” murmured Dexter.
            Maybe to change the subject, Dexter turned to Ralph. He said, “So, I’ve been in many local caves. I started exploring when I was about 15.
            “This Canadian wants us to believe that you Forest People live in underground tunnels and caves and use them for ways to get around, and to escape attention. It seems like it could be possible. There’s certainly enough room in the underground. There is even water in some caves back east mostly. I guess his idea is that you come up to the surface to hunt. I’m not sure what all he thinks.
            “Now, maybe it’s because they heard me coming, but I’ve never seen anybody living in any cave I’ve been in.,” said Dexter.
            “So, yeah, Ralph, what say you, since you should know?” said Rick, grinning.
            Ralph sat there, smiling, then he laughed. “I’m a mammal, right?”
            “Far as I can tell, you sure look like a mammal,” said Rick.
            “Did you see any other mammals living in any of those caves?” Ralph asked.
            “No, some bats,” said Dexter. “I guess they’re mammals though.”
            “Yeah, nocturnal mammals. Well, now, my mother and father, my brothers and sisters, Uncle Bob and Aunt Suzie, and every other Forest Keeper that I know, loves the sunshine, and the moon and stars. We love the wind, the rain, and the snow. We love the forest. Some love the deserts. We love the mountains, and the rivers, and the great salt waters.
            “Maybe some of our extended tribes do use the caves for a refuge, or for travel, but I don’t know of anyone who lives in caves.
            “I think that whole deal is a story based on fear of the dark and the unknown,” said Ralph. “You humans have a great capacity for fear of the unknown, I’ve noticed.”
            “I can’t imagine what Mona would say if I suggested we go underground!” said Ralph.
            They finished off the pot of coffee and the two dozen cookies.
            “Thanks, Ralph. I see your point,” said Dexter.
            “Thank you guys for the coffee and cookies. Hannah did a great job. Maybe I’ll go see what Mona thinks about living underground!”
            Ralph was giggling at the idea as he left the office and headed home.

💚🌿🍃💚

It Was Supposed To Be Suzday

 

            “Toots, Dear, do you see this photo?” said Suzie, who had just awakened from a nap.
            “Yes, Luv, I do. I see you beside the dear young ones,” answered Toots.
            “Et tu, Tootsie?” said Suzie. “I protest, entirely. And this picture is the evidence of a great injustice!”
            “Oh, I was just tugging your tail a little, Suzie. It’s true that it doesn’t look good. I can see that you are metaphorically on the outside of the grooming pile, and the injustice shows on your sweet little face,” Toots said sympathetically.
            “Correct. It’s my day, and no one is grooming my ears, are they? They are wrapped up in each other, and I have no idea where that Mr. Baby is, not that he would have the nerve to attempt to groom me!” huffed Suzie. “Brrrrt!”
            “But, he ought to try. It’s only polite,” said Toots.
            “It is an acknowledgement of leadership. True. Perhaps he and the Scouts all avoid grooming you as a sign of rebellion. Obvioudly, you were next in line after Willie, of blessed memory, went Around The Corner! Something isn’t right here,” said Toots, seriously.
            “It’s true. I sat under his iron paw for many years! It’s my turn!” added Suzie. “But, that’s not the greatest injustice here. Look at that photo. It was taken by Herself, Lady Poobah, etc., etc. Notice who is in the center of the shot, lovingly captured there, and who is shoved over to the side?” grumped Suzie.
            “I must say, to be fair to all concerned, that if you had been smiling, the picture would have looked like a scene of domestic tranquility, not a poster for My Nose IS Out Of Joint!” said Toots.
            “Toots, you ought to hear the way she talks to those two rounders! Baby, Angel, Such Good Boys, etc. Nauseating etc. She holds them and speaks sweetly to them!” argued Suzie.
            “You were a kitten once, Suz. There were older cats around then too!” said Toots. “I’m pretty sure you got to be the new baby when it was your turn,” said Toots.
            “Yeah, but I was pretty Cautious even back then and I didn’t put up with a lot of touching. From the beginning, I didn’t put up with much,” sighed Suzie.
            “There is a price to be paid for being Cautious,” said Toots. “I’ve heard that it’s possible to err on the side of Caution!”
            “A logical possibility, but is it probable?” asked Suzie, pedantically.
            “It’s up to each of us to try to balance the bubble the best we can,” said Toots.
            “What?” said Suzie.
            “Never mind, Dear! Why don’t you smile at the little guys, and maybe just pounce right in and groom them! They’d probably turn right around and clean your ears! They’re just cats, after all. Young and full of esprit de whatever, but still, cats,” said Toots.
            “I’m not going to groom Mr. Fluffbag!” said Suzie.
            “I wouldn’t either,” said Toots, giggling. “He already thinks you love him!”
            “That is positively the most appalling thing I’ve heard all day, Toots,” said Suzie. “But, OK, I’ll try smiling, though my heart is aching.”
            “Better stop with obscure song references, Suzie. Noboy listens to that sutff anymore!” said Toots.
            “Brrrrt!” said Suzie.
            “Nehhkkkk!” said Toots, with a significant nod!

😹💛😸

Meowy May Morning Greetings with A Rose

             I went outside yesterday to see if any of the red roses had bloomed, but instead found several of these little pink darlings. Apparently rose season is upon us. The red ones are a little behind them.

            Bless all your little hearts, not in Southern.

            Let's just chat today, as usual. All threads are open threads at the old MEOW, and that's a very fine thing as far as I am concerned.

🌸

Ralph and The Singing Forest

  

            Once upon a day in the Great Forest, as Ralph was strolling, in that smooth style that he has, he was attending to the song of each tree, or bush, or flower, as he passed it. It’s true, he could hear them all, in harmony, or separately.
            A great and august Douglas fir sang in massively deep rolling waves, atonally, but there, providing a backdrop of sound all others tuned to.
            A cedar sang in higher tones, almost like a song sung by the human natives of the land. Ralph wondered for a moment if the original humans could hear it too. He put it in the back of his mind to find someone who might know the answer.
            Now that it was summer, the blackberry vines, with ripening fruit sang a sweet low harmony. Just faintly, he could hear the berries themselves humming along.
            Even the grass had a song, which upheld and supported the music of the insects which inhabited its stalks. It had a feminine timbre, welcoming and sweet.
        Ralph noted happily that all this singing was going well. It was an atmosphere of sound, as warm and real as his mother’s embrace had been long ago.
        He heard the creatures of the soil voicing their small concerns.
        He heard the rabbits speaking among themselves. If he listened carefully, he could hear the deer, wondering aloud among themselves, which way to go, what to look out for, and other such business.
        He heard the trout in the river urging their brothers and sisters along, singing their silvery monotonous song, over and over, as if they were the voice of the river itself. A sibilant sound rushing along.
        Rocks are not silent either, you know? Ralph thought that if he had to, he would describe their song as a kind of subliminal rumble, louder or lower depending on the size of each rock.
            All of this was wonderful. It was kind of like listening to an angelic choir, if one could hear such a song. Maybe Ralph could hear that too! We mustn’t put it beyond him.
        But the Great Forest only touches Heaven. It is not Heaven, and something was wrong among the great firs. One was silent. It stood upstream along the whispering, chuckling silver river that ran through the Great forest. Its silence stood out among the choir.
            Ralph drew near the silent tree. He leaned his ear against its bark, to discern if the tree was quite dead or just asleep somehow. But the tree was silent. Instead, he heard weeping, faintly, inside where the tree’s heart had lived. It was very faint, neither you nor I could hear it.
            “Why are you weeping,” Ralph said. He put both arms around the tree and held on there.
            “I am alone,” said a dry light voice.
            “What is your name? How can I help you?” answered the Regent of the Forest.
            “I have no name, Sir, and I am imprisoned here, now that my home has died,” cried the voice, low and distressed.
            “Where will you go if I call you out?” asked Ralph, very softly.
            “I must find another tree,” said the voice.
            “I must give you a name, if I am to call you out and send you to another home,” said Ralph.
            “Then, truly, name me. We tree souls have no name except for the name of the tree we love,” said the voice.
            “Spirit, I know a place for you. There is a house in the meadow nearby made of living alder trees. You may live there, if you will,” said Ralph, standing apart from the fir again.
            “I will go, if you send me, Sir,” said the voice. “What shall my name be?”
            Ralph thought deeply about the tree spirit, and what its name should be. Then he said, “Alderheart. I name you Alderheart, and I call you forth!”
            A nearly visible, translucent, pale green figure, slight and girlish, stood before Ralph then. Her long hair hung below her knees, and she wore a gown as green as pale spring leaves. Her feet were bare.
            “It is a good name, Sir. May I know your name, since you seem to have command here?” said Alderheart.
            “I am called Ralph. The name my mother gave me is known only to myself and a few others,” said Ralph.
            “Ralph, Sir, send me to this house made of living alder trees! The outer air is harsh,” said she.
            “Take my hand, and close your eyes, Alderheart. I will see the place in my mind, and you will go there, and be at home in a blink of an eye,” said Ralph to the tree spirit, so pale and green. “You will find a home there, for some of the trees are very young and also alone.”
            So, she did lay her small hand in Ralph’s big warm hand, and then he stood alone beside the river again. The chorus of the Forest rose up around him, and he blessed it in his heart, for it was very pleasing.
            It made Ralph happy to know that Alderheart would be near his loved ones, for he is wise and very kind.

🍀

Photos for Purrsday Open Thread, May 21

             On May 25th of 2011, we were exploring Arches National Park in Utah. 

            We brought the kid along, to give him a look at something besides the insides of houses, and electronic toys. 

             Looking at these rocks, the sensation of time is overwhelming. Dreamtime?

            It's definitely the great wide open. I'd prefer to live in Nevada or Arizona I think, but Utah is good too.

            There were no stories up my sleeve yesterday, so instead you got a short travelogue! And, the road goes on forever and is always calling!

            Have a wonderful day!

           🌸