People [2]: TF Powys

 

 

[Google Images--TF Powys]

"...lie thee down, somebody..."*

   Progressively, it's getting harder and harder to become a nobody.
No matter how hard I/you/he/she/it/we/you/they 'work' on  losing your self, carefully and methodically applying the RS Peters principle of setting yourself free from your ignorance, prejudice and preconceived ideas, some version of your somebody-ness is always lurking in the background of your paltry little life, always ready to raise its ugly head. And, while the struggle is constant, it is all part of the dance [as foretold by Lord Krishna, lo these many kalpas ago].

  Take the other day for example.
I had just finished talking with a freshman philosophy class about the dangers inherent in a cult of personality, when, during the break, one of the students sidled up to me and said: "Professor Kinch..I just want you to know how much I enjoy your class. I really look forward to it..." Instead of channelling the Suzuki principle [a good teacher knocks down the idol his students would make of him] I allowed myself to bask in the glow of this fleeting  [and empty] praise. Ephemerally earned praise left a bad taste in my mouth.
Lie thee down, somebody...

 Then just the other day I was  visiting a Professor of Eastern Studies, Dr. SeeMore Godbole, and he offered me some tea. I was talking about this and that, and some more about this and  that, so he just kept pouring the tea, slowly. Unable to restrain myself, I finally uttered: 'Professor Godbole, no more tea will go in the cup...it is beginning to overflow..."
He stopped pouring and smiled. 'I was hoping for a conversation but your monolog just made me pour and pour...and pour...'
We both laughed. And then we had a real conversation.
Lie thee down, somebody...

  Much earlier this month, I was volunteering at my local Foodbank, when an elderly woman [who was recovering from a recent surgery] required a bit of help carrying her government supplies--meat, cheese, eggs, and butter--to her old, beat-up car. And since I was between tasks [and follow directions well], I was given the job.

  Initial small talk soon gave way to more serious subjects, and an exchange about generational versus situational poverty. In my rush to empathize, I told her that I had [at least in my mind] flirted with being on the poverty line several times whilst attending the Uni. She listened impatiently to my tale, shot me a seriously look, then said: 'That was misfortune that visited you, once or twice...' and, straightening herself, added:
'Did you ever wonder where your next meal was coming from?
Did you ever freeze on a cold winter night because they had cut off your electricity and the little money you had was spent on food, rather than paraffin?
Did you ever consider putting an end to it all? No one or nothing left to live for?'

  She stopped, waiting for my response.
There was no response other than my face turning various shades of red, and imperfectly forming an I am well rebuked expression.
Lie thee down, somebody...
Lie thee down..
Lie the..
Lie..


*borrowed from a short story by TF Powys

People[1] JD Salinger

 

[Google Images]


   We grew up in worlds that no longer exist.
A world where childhood reigned supreme.  A world where our worlds were not circumscribed by fears of creepy people doing creepy things to kids [for the most part].Even in places of worship.  A world where we frolicked at will, before school, after school and all day and all night long during the summer holidays. A world pre-dating technological hand games, virtual and augmented realities, and where we lived inside our own imaginations, inventing games, games and more games. And, when we wanted a bit of normality, there were always pick-up football games [aka soccer in these parts] waiting in the wings.

And there was only a one ring circus...thankfully.

  That is the world we wish to remember...and celebrate in the month of November.
A world about children in the past tense of our memories; a world where innocence pivoted between the vagaries of 'good and evil' ; and a world where catchers in the rye were completely unnecessary.

  And, just to whet your appetite..


Children have a straightforward and uncomplicated way of telling the truth, especially when you least expect it. JD Salinger chronicled this axiom only too well, especially in his memorable book of short stories[see below]. And we adults aren't always ready for it...time come ready or not. 

   The other day I was in my favorite coffee house when a beautiful young mother walked in followed by an equally stunning little girl. Heads turned, mostly for the young mother. I fixed on the little girl--her mixture of seriousness and playfulness reminded me of the little girl in A Perfect Day for Bananafish.* She sat down next to me and focused her attention on this piece of fabric she was clutching. She exuded a focus and presence that would soon, in all probability, be lost.

   Her mother  handed her a small glass of milk along with a biscotti. The little girl ate and drank with only one hand; the other hand all the while clutching the mysterious fabric. The mother noticed that I was watching, smiled and said: 'She never goes anywhere without it..."
I smiled an avuncular smile. 'Everyone should have such a loyal companion,' I offered by way of reply.
'It's my blankie,' the little girl confirmed.
'It's her blankie....she calls it Haber...' the mother added, by way of explanation.

A wave of childhood swept over me at that moment, memories racing back and forth  and flooding my mind.
'She seems very attached,' I observed, stating the obvious. 'That's the trouble with us adults...we've lost our blankie..'  I confessed freely.
' I  know. I miss mine.....my blankie that is....I mean really miss it!' she admitted with equal parts frankness and astonishment.
Her eyes misted over.
She smiled as she wiped her eyes. 'Well, we have to go to a gymnastics lesson.....it was nice talking to you.....' 
They got up to leave.
I tried to thank her for the insight but my voice choked.
Choked by a loss 'too deep for tears.......'**

[Google Images]

* one of the stories in Salinger's aforementioned book

**borrowed from Wordsworth's Ode: Intimations of Immortality