P2A 

Journal: Experience at Waller Creek

            This space is usually filled with my reflections on the activities and readings of the previous day’s class.  However, due to unexpected circumstances, I have no verifiably accurate information to discuss, but only a very incredulous experience to retell.  However, it must have some truth to it; as I, in my right senses, am completely incapable of creating such a jest.  Life is much too serious for that nonsense.

            On an uneventful, grey day last week, during a class excursion to Waller Creek, I found myself downstream from the rest of the group in a state of heightened mental activity.  Although I was supposed to be attempting a local adaptation of Matthew Arnold’s reverential Oxford poetry, I must confess that my mind was in a completely different place.  Because of an examination that was looming in the period of time directly following the class, I was initially preoccupied with a rather sterile application of a certain social science.  I thought to myself, “if interest rates rise and prices fall, then it is necessary to unload x number of futures contracts and purchase y number of options contracts.  Yes, I suppose that sounds correct.  But, if a rate is fixed, then it cannot rise.  Yes, but if a rate cannot rise, then is it fixed?  No, that certainly is not right.  Now if a rate can rise, then is it unfixed? And what if it falls?”  So, you see, as long as I kept my eyes shut and my jaw locked, all of my mental capacity was wasted on a muddled heap of meaningless abstractions.  Once the numeric paradox had achieved its purpose, and I was completely confused; I threw off its yoke and opened my eyes.  What I discovered was a world completely removed from the one that I had existed in for that entire morning*.  Free from the laws of science and the books of experience, I caught a glimpse of a small world in harmony.  The creek was higher than usual, and I noticed a small fish darting through the water.  I saw the trees sway loosely in the wind.   I saw a small squirrel digging in the leaves.  I was submersed in this environment and conscious only of the small, natural vignette that took place before my eyes.  I could think of nothing better than to shrink down and exist with the creatures in their small world.[1]

            With a sigh, I remembered that it would behoove me to clear my head and resume my studies.  But before I got back to my business, I looked to see if the rest of the class was still nearby.  To my astonishment, I noticed that during my moment of introspection, the scenery behind me had transmogrified.  No longer was there a building behind me or a bridge to my left.  I was completely surrounded by a forest of giant trees.  Turning back around, I was relieved to see that at least the creek was still there, although it seemed to be a bit wider and perhaps a little deeper than it was before.  Also, the small fish that was swimming by was now nearly as large as me and was swimming rapidly in my direction. 

“What on earth is all this?” I exclaimed out loud as I leaped backward.

“That is not the question to ask,” replied the now beached mackerel in a slow, lugubrious voice.

As I sat, frozen in a state of disbelief, the fish continued, “The question is ‘Who are you?’”

“Who are you?” I was only capable of repeating his last words.

“No, why are you here?” said the mackerel.

“Why am I here?” I managed to deduce.

“Yes, who are you?” the mackerel repeated.

“I am not sure that I know.  Who in the world am I?  It is a great puzzle.”[2] I said as I inspected my limbs and torso to be sure that I was * still a human-being.  I continued, only half conscious that I was speaking aloud, “did I shrink or did the world around me grow?”

The fish’s deep bass answered, “Both, according to the laws of reciprocity, you shrunk first and then we all grew…”

“Faster, faster,” interrupted a shrill voice from over my left shoulder.  Looking back, I was only barely able to roll out of the way of a charging squirrel, who I might add, was nearly twice my size.  “If everybody minded their own business,” the squirrel squeaked, “the world would go round a deal faster than it does.  Now, quickly, who are you?”[3]

The question was directed at me, but given the state of mind that I was in, I could only formulate a simple reply, “Well I was a student, and I was at school, and I was in the midst of studying all types of things before all of this happened.”

The mackerel interrupted, “before all of what?  You are where you are.  You are at a Pool of Universal Learning.  Do you see the assemblage of strangers from all parts in one spot; else, how will you find professors and students for every department of knowledge? and in one spot; else how can there be any pool at all?”[4]

As I looked around, I noticed that there were many other creatures around, and all were gathered in groups around the creek.  I was still thoroughly confused, and so I ventured, “I said school, not pool.  And how can these be students and professors if there aren’t any books to read or tests to take?”

“That is precisely what I say!” said the squirrel.  “I always say that in our culture, the aim is to know ourselves and the squirrel, we have, as the means to this end, to know the best which has been thought and said by the squirrel.[5]  Thus, I assert reading to contain the materials which suffice for thus making us know ourselves and the squirrel.”[6]

The fish slowly shook his head and * retorted, “No brook and no nest can convey the special spirit and delicate peculiarities of its subject with that rapidity and certainty which attend on the sympathy of mind with wind.”[7]

Hoping to make some sense of this discourse, I said, “but I didn’t mean that at all.  I said books and tests.  Besides, books are supremely important; if that was what you meant?  I have spent half of my life learning great things out of books.”

The fish narrowed his eyes and thundered, “And it shows.  Polished manners, which are so difficult of attainment: courtesy, the power of conversing, the talent of not offending, the openness of hand—now open your hand—these qualities, some of them come by nature, but do we expect they can be learned from brooks?  The very nature of the case leads us to say no.”[8]

The squirrel dropped an acorn into my open hand and began his rebuttal, “generosity is the supreme measure of etiquette…”

Given the opportunity, I quietly slipped away.  I wished that these creatures wouldn’t be so easily offended,[9] but, nevertheless, I decided that the first thing to do was to find one amongst them that might help me.  I thought, “I must grow to my right size again; and then find my way out of this strange forest.  I think that will be the best plan.”[10]

While my head was bowed and my mind was deep in thought of how to take my approach and make my appeal, I was startled by a new voice.  The new voice exuded a kind of tempered complacency, depleted of passion, as it said, “Well, what are you?  I can see you’re trying to invent something!”[11]

Looking up, but without seeing the speaker, I replied, “would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the voice.

“I don’t much care where—so long as it is somewhere new” I said as I looked up and saw that the speaker was a hummingbird directly above me.  Its wings were beating furiously, but it made no noise and it stood perfectly still in the air.

“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” the bird said.[12]

            “But I must get out of here.  I simply don’t belong here,” I said.  I was somewhat exasperated by the bird’s elusiveness, but also desperate for its assistance.

            “You think that you don’t belong, but I know that you don’t belong because you think,” the bird replied. “If you continue to dwell in thought on this world, then it contracts still further and that peculiar human trait, your wall of personality, will allow nobody’s real voice to enter.”[13]

            “But I can’t help it.  Nobody here knows me and the surroundings and the creatures are so strange.  They are not the normal elements of my life that I knew in the past,” I pleaded.

            “What is the whole of life in that moment but a combination of natural elements?”[14] the hummingbird questioned back.

            “Well, I don’t like these elements and I refuse to live in a moment, at least not in this moment.  I must think about what to do next,” I said.

            “There is nothing to do next.  There is only the experience now.  You must learn to stand still.  All that is actual in experience is a single moment, gone while we try to apprehend it, of which it may ever be more truly said that it has ceased to be than it is.  Not the fruit of experience, but experience itself, is the end,”[15] The bird explained.

            I thought to myself that this was a very wise hummingbird.  This realization completely contradicted what I had always learned about the nature of birds.  Unfortunately, the bird’s solution to my problem seemed to be fairly useless, and I was desperate for help. I entreated, “will you help me then?”

            To which it replied, “I already have, but if you must learn from the experience then come and grab my foot.”

            This whole time, while I was being indoctrinated by the various animals, I had apparently been shrinking even smaller; or, conversely, the outside world might have been growing that much larger.  Either way, I had no problem wrapping my arms around the bird’s enormous foot as it flew over my head.  I felt a great sense of relief as the bird lifted me higher and higher.  I could see the amorphous creek and the disputing animals, still huddled in groups.  As we got higher, I could see the treetops and then the clearing outside of the forest.  Higher still, there were other forests and other creeks.  Relief turned into the realization that I was never far from home, that at this height, this world looked like the one that I knew.  Perhaps this enormous patchwork quilt that was unfolding beneath me connected this forest to the creek where I started, and I could get dropped off right where I began!

            “Excuse me; are you taking me someplace in particular?” I asked.

            “I have taken you here,” the bird replied, “you can go someplace on your own.”

            As I reacted to the bird’s ever-ambiguous responses, I began to lose my grip on its leg.  I was able to swing around and steady myself with my right arm, but I lost my wristwatch in the process.  I hadn’t paid any attention to time up until this point, but the altercation forced me to remember my obligations.

            “I have completely forgotten about my examination.  I must be terribly late.  Oh, no, my professor will be terribly angry if I’ve kept him waiting,”[16] I exclaimed.  Just as soon as I had said this, I noticed that we were losing altitude quickly.

            “Well that is that.  We all must grow a bit, but I grow at a reasonable pace, not in this ridiculous fashion,”[17] said the bird as it shook me loose and flew off.

            Falling, I looked up and saw the enormous sky above and the stars above that and the multi-verse outside of that.  Twisting and facing downward, I saw the clouds, continuous and pristine.  Falling further, I saw the blended colors of the earth and the oceans below. 

            The narration of my thoughts slowly morphed into a familiar voice on the other side of the bridge, “…the whole country and all of the activity going on from one coast to the other...  Now imagine just this city, from the hills in the west to the planes in the east…  Picture just the University, the thousands of students going about their daily routine...  Finally, see the creek.  See your immediate surroundings.  Think about the dragonfly on the water, the fish under the water, the squirrel on the ground, and the bird in the sky.  How do they connect to you?  Why are you here?”

“It seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.”[18] – Alice

(Word Count: 2184-36+28=2176)

URL: webspace.utexas.edu/loomisaa/P2AHC.htm