by Dale Estey
“She’s a bitch,” said the elephant.
“Wrong species,” pointed out God. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t like inaccurate talk,” said God. “I never have. I look upon speech as one of my greatest gifts.”
“I’m sorry,” said the elephant, who really was sorry but especially for himself. “Things were going so well; we were even hosing each other’s backs in the evening. And then she took it into her head to go and forage by herself, to leave me as she explored other mudholes.” The elephant’s voice became very indignant. “And I even saw her flapping her ears at other elephants. She has no right to do something like that.”
“No right?” The boulder rumbled. “Birth gave her rights, and you rights, and everything else on this earth rights.”
“I’m sorry,” said the elephant.
“Possessiveness,” snapped God. “I meant possessiveness to be guided by affection, not power.”
“It works both ways,” said the elephant. “I’ll just ignore her; that’s what I’ll do.”
“Even if she happens to come this way?” asked God.
“Why?”
“I feel waves against me,” said the boulder. “She’s entered the river above.”
“I don’t care,” said the elephant, but he turned his head. “Upstream, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” the elephant lumbered to his feet. “I suppose I …,” he looked at the boulder and smiled, “… I have as much right to be there as she does.”
“Definitely,” agreed God. “The river belongs to everyone.”
As the elephant splashed his way up river, a toucan bird settled comfortably upon the boulder.
“You want to know something?” asked God.
The toucan cocked an attentive ear.
“If we stay here, we’re going to get swamped.”
You Cannot Lose Your Soul
The elephant carefully left the herd when the first light of dawn streaked the sky.
He picked his way through the grass and trees, doing his best not to make a sound which would alert the other elephants. He was unsure about his enterprise, and he wished to avoid either their questions or speculations.
They would soon be poking each other with their tusks and whispering fervently into half-raised ears, when his absence was noted. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. He was doubtful enough as it was; he didn’t need the knowing nods of his herd mates.
The elephant was heading for the special clearing he had not visited for years. It was far and away, and although the route was still visible, it had never been clear or defined. And it was obviously not often used, for traces of other animals were few.
Since he had left early, he had not eaten breakfast, so he stopped occasionally to tug at some of the grasses. He munched thoughtfully while trying to decide how to ask his peculiar — and perhaps disturbing — question. How far, after all, do free will, free thought, and free speech actually go?
He came to a small stream and took his time to wash down his morning meal. The water had a chill to it, and he guessed some deep spring fed directly into its flow. It tasted as if it had been purified on its way through layers of earth, and he was certain he could feel bubbles on his tongue.
Sated and refreshed, he took note of the angle of daylight and began to trot with haste. He had set out early to avoid the glare of the midday sun, and if he could reach the clearing when planned, he would have the light behind him. It would make his task of staring into the sky that much easier. One less distraction in an already anxious day.
He became slightly less careful on the path, and a tree or two cracked as he hurried past. Since the other animals felt it prudent to keep their distance, it was with a minimum of havoc that he reached the clearing. As he had hoped, a cloud awaited him at the end.
“Mad dogs and elephants,” said the cloud.
“Pardon me?”
“Go out in the midday sun.”
“That’s ‘Englishmen.’”
“Ah, yes.” The cloud came closer. “It would be.” There was amusement tracing the words. “Have you taken an interest in show tunes now?”
“Well.” The elephant looked slightly embarrassed. “There seems no order or reason to the types of entertainment they show at the mission. And I’m quite fond of music.”
“So am I.”
“Even Noel Coward?”
“I’m partial to the first name.”
“That’s a joke,” said the elephant.
“A pun,” corrected the cloud.
“A technical distinction,” said the elephant.
“Much of what I do is technical,” said God. “It’s part and parcel of life.”
“I’ve heard that technology can destroy the soul.”
“No. The soul is immutable.”
“But …” The elephant was confused. “To lose one’s soul is the worst thing which —”
“You cannot lose your soul.” The cloud approached across the clearing. “You can, however, renounce your soul. It is not done unto you — you do the doing.”
“With all due respect,” the elephant, in spite of all his haste and worry, had now completely forgotten his original query, “the destruction which living a life can do to your hopes and dreams and desires eats away at your soul.”
“You talk of ephemera,” said God. “Just as you do not call a blade of grass a tree, you do not compare these wisps to the soul. Hope and —”
“But I —”
“Your God speaks,” said God. “Hold your tongue and attend.”
“Sorry.”
“Hope and desire give better service when verbs — not as nouns. You can covet so much that you refuse to recognize the satisfaction of achievement. Such a state of existence is known as greed.”
“Greed doesn’t destroy your soul?”
“No.” The cloud came almost as low as the elephant’s head. “Greed can only destroy life. It is a choice you make.”
“I like things,” said the elephant.
“So do I,” said God. “Everything.”
“Then it’s not wrong?”
“No.” The cloud eased back into the sky. “But things are just things. Desire is only desire. Fear is but fear. They are all pathways through the jungle. Some are more difficult than others.”
“Leading where?” asked the elephant, who, when he realized how high the cloud had really become, decided he had better shout. “LEADING WHERE?”
“To me.”
Thoughts Have Life
The elephant was sitting in the dark, listening to the voices.
He could tell which animals were settling in for the night, which parents were quieting their young, which hunters were on the prowl, which prey were on the dodge.
The sounds possessed a sharpness which could startle and make it sometimes seem that these vignettes of life were happening beside his head. But he knew the tricks of the dark and was not alarmed when a snort or squeal broke through. The night, for all its echo and hustle, was mainly a time of silence.
The elephant liked the silence.
Without the chatter of the day, his mind could pause and rest. Or he could travel across those boundaries that he would never reach in a lifetime.
Or, sometimes, he could do both together. He could slip down that avenue that a quiet mind revealed, and enter those worlds which collide with reality. Not exactly sleep. Not exactly dream.
“A hinterland.”
“Yes,” agreed the elephant.
“And yours alone.”
“Is that true?” asked the elephant.
“Yes.”
“Except for you,” pointed out the elephant.
“In a way, even I come here only at your invitation.”
“How is that?”
“In a way, you are the one who creates this place.”
“But I plan nothing.”
“Let’s say that you plan to plan nothing.”
“If I’m not in
control,” the elephant was confused, “how can I create anything?”
“Through the knowledge you have accumulated. The unique and peculiar arrangement of these pieces in this place come from your life force.”
“Surely, when I’m nearest to sleep, I am furthest from active life.”
“But closest to the meaning.”
“If that is true,” said the elephant, “then it does not carry well.”
“Meaning is not a portion to be carried. It is the container.”
“And it disappears when I’m awake?”
“When you function as a part of life then you are aware only of the other parts. Your time is consumed by them.”
“But not here?”
“Here — all is equal. Here — you can go further.”
“Where sense does not make sense.”
“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on.’”
“You always get the best lines,” said the elephant.
“That’s the prerogative of the Creator.”
And the elephant smiled and nodded and sometimes opened his eyes and sometimes did not. And sometimes tried to touch the vapours and sometimes tried to sing the dreams. And as he sometimes nodded and smiled and as he watched with open eyes or closed, he was as weightless as his beloved butterflies.
And as free.
He danced the memories of all the dances he had ever seen.
And God beat time.
Wisdom
The elephant was enjoying the beautiful morning.
The jungle was cool and crisp, the leaves and grasses choice and moist. He grabbed at the wonderful feast with his trunk and chewed contentedly as he looked at the other animals around him. They also seemed aware that the morning was a special gift and stood happily in their places wadding the bounty into their mouths with little noise. Even the monkeys sounded relaxed as they bounded through the branches with no hint of alarm in their calls. It was while the elephant watched a particularly playful group of monkeys that he saw the distinct, thick cloud move across the clear sky. It seemed to settle heavily in the air and begin its slow descent right over his head.
“Well,” said the cloud.
“Well,” agreed the elephant.
“Are you enjoying your meal?” asked the cloud.
“Yes,” said the elephant.
“Good,” said God.
“It’s been a long time since we spoke,” said the elephant.
“There are no ends to the continuum,” answered the cloud. “You perceive what you think you see.”
“Heavy thoughts for so early in the morning,” commented the elephant. “They might disturb my digestion.” He chewed extra carefully to prove his point.
“You’re a heavy fellow,” responded the cloud. “I think you can handle it.”
“Older but wiser?” asked the elephant.
“Where I come from,” said the cloud, weighting down some of the tastier branches to within the elephant’s reach, “never the former. Always the latter.”
Christmas at the Mission
The elephant was not oblivious to the Christmas season. There were carols at the mission and incongruous baubles hanging from the large banana tree inside the walled yard. He thought that this year he would pay his respects and journeyed half a day until he reached the special clearing. A cloud waited for him.
“It’s your s … son’s birthday and … and …,” the elephant stumbled over his words. No matter how many times he talked to God, he could not overcome his shyness. “… I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended further. “For those who believe, it is a grand time. For those who take advantage, they get their reward on earth.”
“That sounds like something out of the Bible,” said the elephant.
God laughed. “I thought you couldn’t read the Bible.”
“I can’t.” The elephant felt better. “You see, there’s a couple of new missionaries come to the village. They’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, and they take turns reading the Bible to each other. They’ve gone through it once and are starting again. I like that part, but some of the other things they say I don’t understand at all.”
“Neither do I,” said the cloud.
“You mean they’re lying?”
“No, not really. They mean well enough, but they expect to know everything.”
“They’re not much for Christmas,” said the elephant.
“They mistake what they see for the meaning.”
“It helps to see,” insisted the elephant.
“Sure it helps,” said God. “But the real belief is without seeing.”
“You sent your son for us to see.”
“I’m not above helping you a bit.”
“Things are still pretty hard,” said the elephant.
“That’s life.”
“God, you can be annoying.”
“I know.”
The elephant stood, annoyed, blowing dust over himself for a few minutes until he felt some raindrops. He looked up at the cloud.
“I’m waiting.”
“Waiting?” asked the elephant.
“For the kicker,” said God. “The Witnesses have you fired up.”
“I want to see you,” said the elephant, and the words raced from his mouth. “I don’t have to see you, you know that. I’ve believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you; it would mean so much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can’t explain but it would …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.” The rain stopped falling.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” said the elephant.
“Sing some carols,” the voice was distant. “I like them.”
The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the rich grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing he knew was happening later in the evening.
He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noted the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp. Tears rolled from his eyes, and they were gently wiped away.
Why Do We Have Memories?
The elephant was thinking about the past.
It was not an exercise he often performed, but when he did, he did so with concentration and fervour.
He would wander off by himself, and in whichever secluded spot he chose, he would pace back and forth, utilizing the full extent allowed by the lay of the land.
This time he had come to the foothills of the mountains, and he walked along the winding track which followed the contours at its base. With head down, and few glances to left or right, he tramped the trail, oblivious to his surroundings.
This erratic terrain suited his purpose, for he wished to move slowly and carefully. He didn’t mind the occasional dip, the occasional hillock, or the occasional rock slide. His powerful stride took him up and down with ease.
It was while he was atop one of the more rocky promontories that he noticed the cloud. Although it was the first time he actually saw it, he now realized a slight shadow had been preceding him for quite some distance. It had been sliding along the face of the mountain though never falling directly upon him or the path.
He thought about ignoring it, but then realized, with some suddenness, that he wanted to talk.
“How long have you been there?” asked the elephant.
“I’m eternal,” said God. “What a question.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Considering your ponderings about the past, I thought it an appr
opriate comment.” The cloud slid down the side of the hill and came over the elephant’s head. “I also thought that you wanted to be alone with your memories. That no longer seems the case.”
“Why memories?”
“Pardon me?”
“Why have you given us memories?” The elephant sighed. “They can be quite a trouble.”
“For someone who so often blunders into trouble, you seem unduly concerned about avoiding it.”
“Cause and effect,” suggested the elephant.
“Perhaps . . . but in which direction?” The cloud paused as the elephant turned to start back along the secluded trail. “As to your question. If you didn’t possess memory, you’d spend the better part of each day hunting for the watering hole.”
“Those aren’t the memories I mean.”
“No, they wouldn’t be.” The cloud threw a huge shadow in front of the elephant, making him stop. “You would appreciate knowing the position of the watering hole if you were thirsty enough.”
“I’d be thirsty,” admitted the elephant. “But I wouldn’t be sad. The memories I’m talking about make me sad.”
“SIGH ,” sighed the cloud, as it gathered the shadow back into itself. “I suppose you aren’t going to consider the happy ones.”
“Not today.”
“Some other time?”
“Perhaps.”
“So this trip down memory lane will concentrate on the road not travelled?”
“In large part,” admitted the elephant. “I do often wonder about what might have been.”
“Then let’s continue on our way,” said God. “You may as well reminisce and get your exercise.”
The elephant quickened his pace and soon a flurry of stone and gravel was tumbling down the slope. He didn’t know if he wanted to discuss some particular memory which was hurtful or the general feeling of loss which seemed to be enveloping him.
“Let’s talk specifics,” suggested God.
“Why?” asked the startled elephant.
“Because added together they become the whole. We eventually deal with everything.”