The road that leads from my bluff to civilization, swerves by a view of a canyon that opens on to the sea. Every single time I drive past this canyon, I flash back to a memory from my girlhood in India.
What is it about the mind and soul that asks us to re-visit specific moments again and again? Is there something to be seen or learned that we haven’t digested?
Is it a gift from the universe to not forget other times, places and imprinting incidents?
The story of that day:
Early 60’s. My parents’ humanitarian work in India and Sri Lanka was intense…medical, educational, agricultural, social projects that all required funding. My father was approached by the president of the South Indian Bus Company to discuss his needs and money. The invitation to meet was to be in OUR mountains! Where my brother and sister and I were in boarding school. We had no idea that we would see our parents before Christmas break. Out of the blue a message was delivered to each of us that my father would meet us at the school flagpole in the morning. My younger sister could not join because she was stuck in the infirmary with a bug, but my brother, Dave, and I waited at the spot.
Dad, lean and bouyant as ever, slid out of the jeep and wrapped his arms around us with “Kids, of course I had to come say ‘hello’ and I will stop on the way back to see Marg, but right now I need to go! I’m late and this whole fancy expedition has been arranged in my honor.”
Zinging questions and information passing back and forth as Dad arranged a few things in the back of the jeep.
Dave:”So you’re telling us that you’re going on a hunting expedition for a whole day, and you don’t believe in hunting, and you’re not going to kill anything, but it’s an incredible wild part of the mountains and we can’t come?”
Dad:”Your mom said that under no circumstances should you come.”
Me: ”We want to come and we’re coming.”
And so my brother and I climbed into the jeep and Dad said, with a shrug and a laugh, that he was going to get in big trouble for this!
Fast forwarding……
The Bus Man, a dynamic force, with a team of trackers and men to flush the animals out of the forests, had given Dad a rifle and robust encouragement that he would have his men flush the biggest and best creatures his way, and all Dad had to do was pull the trigger, and he would be the star of the day. Dave and I listened.
Just then a team of trackers rushed a small female deer down into the canyon directly in front of us, guns fired, she stumbled and broke her legs and then she was killed. Slaughtered.
Dave began to shake. We sat in silence together and then Dave went off by himself.
Dad played his role of gracious appreciation and while being given fine tuned lessons on his rifle, at a moment when he was holding it up to his eye, he and I looked at each other. Really looked, just for a second, and that look I will never forget.
Maybe that is my canyon lesson.
In that moment I knew that whatever was going to go down (literally) he knew who he was and wouldn’t betray himself….even though the evidence might look otherwise.
A GIANT sambar was flushed out at that moment…regal, and in full antler beauty….right in front of Dad. Bus Man was hissing and spitting while he talked to pull the trigger, “Take him, man! Take him, he is yours!”
And Dad aimed and ever so slightly leaned left and shot next to the deer. Much hooplah and upset from Bus Man, but nevermind, there would be others. In his good natured way, Dad ended the expedition with ‘Enough is enough! Time to go!”
Silence as we all drove back to school.
Dad, are you inhabiting my canyon, perchance?