Acid Rain

by R. D Rhodes

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  Their base was only five minutes ahead, where the gorge ended at a sheer cliff face, from which the water shot down to create the river. To my right, the wall was uneven, but was sloped to my benefit and had plenty footholds. A thin, processional mist kept hiding the summit, but it allowed me little peeks of it.

  I started to climb. The thin rain splayed into my face as I pulled myself up into a cleft and felt for a place for my foot. I knew it was quite stupid. And reckless. Especially with Harry not there. But I thought I knew what I was doing.

  I stretched up about forty or fifty feet. If I slipped it was death or paralysis. Then I found a ravine and got in, the rocks tight around my sides. It led all the way up to flatter ground from which it was an easy walk to the summit.

  A few clouds passed, and I looked back at the river that coursed into Affric, then I turned and stepped down the other side, coming out of the clouds into another glen. It was like a completely different land. Above Affric it had been grey, but here the black-clouded sky turned everything dark, almost like it had its own microclimate. To the left, bare brown hills led down to a bare valley floor with a small green loch in its middle. The far side was full of spruce, and below and to my right the hills rolled out a mix of deciduous and conifer trees. I stepped down from rock to heather, my boots splattering through hidden waterholes as I waded through the knee-high grasses into the gloomy forest. Avenues of pines stacked up over my head, and no light at all gave in from the sky.

  I wondered around the dimness, trying to avoid the thick brambles. I had the feeling that I was being watched, similar to when we’d first put up the tent and the trees were hushing, except now the trees were silent, and nothing moved.

  I looked around nervously, and the feeling got stronger as I walked on. My energy, which had plateaued when I came down from the mountain, started to rise again. My nerves sharpened. My hairs stood on end. Beyond the brambles was a grove of yew trees, about ten of them spaced out down the hill. It’s coming from them, I thought, and I slowly followed their route. It was like a current was running right through me. I felt full of power. I vaguely knew that I had felt this before, but not since I was a child.

  I passed the eighth yew tree; they were all multi-stemmed and their snakey roots twisted up above the ground like hands coming up from the underworld. I could feel the energy running up my spine, until my head tingled, as the yews led into a primeval plot of fallen birches and scattered rowans and ancient, decrepit-looking oaks. It’s so hard to describe the feeling I had, and I don’t think words will ever be able to transfer the emotion, the energy of it, I wish they could, but it was everywhere, and my nerves were jangling. There was something spooky about that place. I kept expecting something to jump out at me.

  I walked into the middle of the plot. Above me, between the trees, the black sky swirled with menace. I thought it was probably just me, my excited mind was creating all this, and then I froze. Something pounced out of the overgrowth.

  I remained as still as I could as a huge stag, taller than me, with four-foot-long antlers, marauded across from the right. It stopped abruptly, ten steps away and right in my path. He had smelled me. He turned those weapons of destruction ninety degrees. I stared back into his big, brown eyes, waiting. I tried to relax my body, release my nervousness. He held the stare. Then he dropped his head and chewed the grass.

  “Fuck.” I breathed out deep, and backtracked, stepping slowly away until I couldn’t see him anymore. My heart thumped in my chest.

  But it seemed safe now. I kept an eye behind me as I walked up the hill. But do they even attack humans? I wondered. I hadn’t heard of any deer assaults, and if they did, they’d surely all have been killed. But it’s okay now, he’s gone. I smiled my relief, if he’d went for me, I’d have been fucked. We have no skills at all against real predators. He’s not a predator but we’re not faster, stronger, our senses are weaker, but we have brains and that’s what matters.

  My own brain was in another fervor of excitement as just then, up ahead, there was a loud SNAP! and two more deer- females this time- bounced left down the hill to get away from me, their white bums flying through the air. They disappeared amongst the yews, and I laughed out loud.

  Aisha.

  I looked round.

  Aisha.

  Yes, here. I’m talking to you.

  I was looking at an oak tree. One of its growths had the withered appearance of an old face, and that was what I had turned around to see.

  Yes. I’m talking to you.

  It seemed like it was laughing.

  What? Talking to a tree, I thought.

  Yes. You’re listening, it said slowly. You talk to us, we hear you. We talk to you, do you hear us?

  I tried to bat away my skepticism, and repeated in my head, We talk to the trees, they hear us. The trees talk to us, do we hear them? Then I replied in my mind, When do you hear us? Do you have a name? I stared hard into the growth-face. Though I was relaxed, there was a tension in my neck.

  We hear you all the time. Every time you come out here. You thought before, that trees suckle up your negative thoughts. Well yes, we try to do that. And names are irrelevant to us, but you can give me one if you’d like?

  I stared at the face, then looked around me, down the hill and at the other trees. There was no sign of any deer. I looked back at it. Why are the other trees not speaking too? Why only you?

  We’re all alive, it retorted, but I just chose to speak to you today. Others will speak to you another day, or in the same day. But I’m here now.

  I was still perplexed, and wary of myself, wary that I was having a conversation in my head with a tree. Are you just one spirit? Or do you each have different spirits?

  Ah, now there’s a question. It’s not that simple and easy. You would think that we would have our own distinct spirits, and we do, but also we are together as part of a bigger thing. That’s the best I can explain it to you.

  I looked at the knotted mark that made a mouth, the nub nose above it, and the hollow eyes either side. Tiny lines of rain split down between us, if it was us.

  You say part of a bigger thing? You mean, God? Or part of a mass consciousness? A dual consciousness?

  Yes. Both. Every being is tied up in this thing you call “mass consciousness”. But also we are from the thing you call God and we return to the thing you call God.

  I looked down at the ground and tried to process that, “What do you mean, both coming from and returning to the thing called God?” I said silently.

  It seemed to be chuckling again, or at least I felt it had a benign humour towards me. I know you’re eager, and that’s good. But it’s not that easy to get all the answers. Like you noticed when you built that fire, it takes patience, and it can’t all come from you either. If you go away and think about this, you will begin to piece together what I mean. That is the only way you can really learn, by working things out and experiencing them for yourself.

  So you want me to go away and think about the thing about God? And I will realise its meaning, your meaning in my own time? Why can’t you tell me the answer now?

  The face seemed wise. Like an old man, though I never particularly thought of old men as wise before.

  Everything around me was quiet.

  I’m sorry, you have to work at it. To get answers like that. You and everybody. We can give you some answers, and some help. But It’s all up to you. You all have your own free will. But I can see you and I know you will do well with it.

  But I sometimes wish we didn’t though, have free will. I sometimes want God to strike us down like he used to do in the old testament. Or at least just take my life and live it for me, so I don’t make mistakes. Look what we’ve done to you with free will. What good has it done?”

  You don’t mean that. Do you really think that’s the way He was? It all was? Really?

  No. I just get frustrated.

  I know. And you said it yourself, like you
are learning yourself, boredom and frustration are the driving forces of humanity. Now that’s not all strictly true but it is partly. And what would life be if you didn’t get to live it, to make your own choices? To be in the driver’s seat as you said it. Now, I’ve said enough for today, go and have think about it, child. Enjoy your walk. Don’t be too careless on your way back.

  The impression of humour was there again, but I also felt love. A paternal love. Was that what it meant by child? Why did you call me child?

  Well, you are. You’re just a human. And a child of the forest.

  I lit up. I stood up straighter. Yes, that’s what I want to be. A child of the forest.

  That grandfatherly love again. The feeling of that chuckling laughter. The feeling that the face was looking at me. Well, keep working. And thanks for showing us respect. Go on, now. Process this. Enjoy your day.

  I wanted to stay and talk more, but I felt propelled to go back up the mountain and to the tent. Plus, it was getting dark, and I had to navigate the cliffs on the other side.

  I thought about staying there and sleeping out wild, but the tree was right, best to head back. I looked beyond it then back at the face.

  I just want to stay here and learn everything you have to teach. Can I?

  Patience. There’s only so much you can give and take at once. Go away and process it, my child.

  I accepted it. Okay, thank you. Thank you so much for your time. I’m so grateful.

  I’m glad you’re grateful. My time is nothing. Bye for now.

  Thanks. I love you.

  I love you too, now on your way.

  I bowed down with my hands clasped and my eyes closed, then I headed back up the hill.

  I found an easier route down the other side and came back down onto the boggy ground, walking over to the waterfall source then following the river. I came back to the rowan, just before the oak, and stopped to pick a bunch of the mushrooms I’d seen before.

  Talking to trees, I thought, as I headed along the gorge’s cliff. Have I gone crazy? What the hell? But a lot of what it said, seemed to make a lot of sense. But maybe you’ve just read too much Thoreau, your head’s in the clouds. Well, that’s true, but then like Harry quoted Emerson- In every work of genius a man recognises his own rejected thoughts, and is forced to have them come back at him? So why deny it?

  It said that every being is tied up in this thing you call “mass consciousness”. And we are from the thing you call God, and we return to the thing you call God. Or that’s what I heard, or what I thought myself. What does that mean? Are we all a part of this mass consciousness? If we are, then it confirms what I already know and have seen- that we all have souls. I saw one in the hospital! And we are all created and return to the thing we call God? Well, that means God created us, which is obvious to me. Some higher being, some greater entity, created spirit and poured it into matter, and then we all just return to Him? But why? For his enjoyment, his pleasure? Are we just his playthings? You have to work it out for yourself. You and everyone else in this mass consciousness. If we have to learn it for ourselves, is that why we are here? To learn and to grow? So then, life is to be experienced.

  We are alive. The trees are alive. Does that mean the grass and rocks are too? And they suckle up our negative thoughts. Why though? Because they love us?

  I passed the whirlpool and the chasm, and was almost at the bridge when I found some nettles. They looked old, and the edibles book said they are best picked in Spring, not November, but I was starving and wanted some different flavor. I wanted the nutrition of some greens. I picked a bunch, getting stung in the process, and before I was back at the tent I also stocked up on a load of blackberries.

  Chapter 52

  I really was famished by the time I got back, and my body felt weak and my feet sore from all the tramping. I turned on the stove straight away and pulled off my boots and boiled some tea. I had a little rest inside the tent, then went out with a few pieces of charcoal I’d kept. I managed to get the fire lit.

  I poured out the rice, there was only a third of the bag left, then I added some of the nettles, mushrooms and blackberries with the water. When it was ready, the stewed nettles looked just like spinach. Their green goodness. The nutty, warm mushrooms. And the sweet juiciness of the berries. I devoured it all under the stars and licked the bowl clean. I felt pretty full. I put out the fire and went inside and stretched out in my bag.

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  I woke in pitch darkness. I doubled over in agony. The acids in my stomach were churning like a washing machine. I twisted and squirmed and was trying to get comfortable, when a great surge shot up my throat. I swallowed it back, and a fusty, lumpy concoction lingered behind my tonsils. I groaned and stuck my feet in my unlaced boots and ran outside, collapsing onto my knees, clutching to the nearest tree, and waited for the next round to come. I didn’t have long. My belly rumbled loudly then a yellow plume shot up and out my throat, landing in the moss.

  For ages it kept coming, vomit after vomit. I thought it must be over, then I was sick again. My stomach muscles ached. Was it the mushrooms, the nettles, or both? I wondered, between bouts. My throat kept retching, my windpipe working autonomously as my body tried to get the last of it out.

  There was nothing more. I fell over, exhausted in the damp grass, empty and looking up through the poles of trees, the vague moonlight spinning somewhere above me. I was shivering.

  I wearily stumbled to my feet and dragged my limp body back into the tent. I managed to zip the door up before I crashed back down. I didn’t think of anything. I couldn’t think of anything. I just wanted to get better.

  Chapter 53

  The next thing I was aware of I was on a mountain I’d never seen before. It was dark, and everything was obscured by fog. I was watching, but I couldn’t see any part of my body to show that I was physically there. No hands, or feet, just the scenery in front of me, as if I was a floating camera.

  And then I heard a voice that came from all around me, from every direction. It was omniscient and direct, and deep, and it was talking to me,

  “We are all on our own paths through life. We all choose our own direction.” he said, and it felt like it was a he.

  Like a movie cutting to a new scene, I was then watching from a birds-eye view as two women went down the mountain. I wasn’t aware of their faces, or how old they were, or even what they were wearing, but it seemed like long grey cloaks. They were coming down a long stone path that wound its way through the loose, scree rocks that made up that part of the mountain.

  Then my view was directed below them at the many other paths that interweaved then split off in different directions towards the level ground.

  I knew the women were communicating with each other, but I didn’t know what they were saying. They kept coming down the mountain and the world was dark and foggy and they were the only ones in it. They reached a point where their path interlaced with three others coming down, and then they split and went separate routes saying a somehow mumbled, somehow wordless, goodbye.

  My view then shot up high again, looking down on them, and I saw them spreading out on their own distinct paths into the darkness below. Then I woke up.

  I was wide alert and covered in cold sweat. I flicked the lamp on, and I went straight into my bag for my pen and notebook. What was that? I thought. It had been so vivid, so lucid, I was surprised it was a dream.

  I sketched out a rough image of the scene and replayed it in my mind. “We’re all on our own paths through life. We all choose our own direction.”

  I felt supremely alive. I wiped sweat from my forehead. As I stretched across to get some water, my temples thumped even harder. I sipped at the water and looked at the picture and wrote out what was said.

  Still limp and drained, I fell flat down.

  Chapter 54

  The birds woke me. Bright sunlight flooded through the canvas and the wind howled through the trees. I felt weak, drained, but much better
. There was a lightness in me. My stomach rumbled with hunger, but from my naval up I felt cleansed and pure. What a dream, I thought. And what did it mean? What was that voice that was speaking to me so clearly?

  God?

  I looked up through the canvas. A bird landed near the tent and trilled loudly. I noticed a bright white light flash for a second in the outside of my vision.

  The two women on the mountain left each other at a sort of crossroads, separating onto their own paths. Maybe they were coming down from heaven, or the spirit world or the other dimension? The place we are born. And were descending into the darkness of the earth because they had to learn lessons in this life.

  Maybe the paths they were on were pre-chosen in order to learn those lessons?

  So we all come from the same consciousness, and it is a part of us, and we go back to it. From and to the thing called God?

  I sat up and opened the door, and watched the thin birches bending back and forth. Clouds were skiting across the sky between large patches of blue. I got my boots on and crawled out. I felt great. Wow, I thought. If this is what fasting feels like, then I need to do it more often.

  I went to the stream and washed my face and sipped a little water. My head was swarming with a warm, joyous feeling, and I felt elated just to be there. Just to be alive. There was an energy in me, around me, beyond and above me. This is my home, I thought. This really is my home. Thank you! Thank you, nature! Thank you, forest! I said aloud, then again in my head, but though I tried to express my gratitude, it didn’t feel enough. The wind swayed and rustled the trees and I was sure that it was trying to talk to me. It came around me and warmed me and comforted me and loved me. I was feeling so at peace, and from the bottom of my heart I was so grateful.