Amma's blog: "I Am"

Once upon a time a young goat suckled at the bursting teet of its mother and listened to a wondrous tale of creatures helping each other, no matter their different hide or feathers. "...And then the donkey - who was too tired to be of further use to its master in carrying heavy loads of chopped wood - decided to seek the open road and a greener pasture and escape the fate of becoming a footstool cover. Soon it found a hound dog lying in the heat of the noon day sun." === "Where is your huntsman, hound?" the donkey asked. "Oh, my nose is not what it used to be." the hound howled in a sad and quiet way, "Instead of a squirrel, I treed the huntsman's cat and he almost stuck an arrow through its heart. He threw sticks and stones at me and drove me from his hunting grounds. I am no longer needed, or wanted." The tips of his long ears made question marks in the dust and tears spilled from his drooping bloodshot eyes. The donkey stomped his right hoof and brayed through the cloud of road dirt raised, "Come with me then, worthy hound. I am off to be all that I can be, and to see all that I can see. You can ride upon my back and tell me what lies before me. I am a grazer by nature and my eyes are more suited to seeing from side to side. You, however, are a hunter in your own right, and your eyes see what is to come." His tail lashed to the left and a mosquito buzzed quickly away. The hound was inspired, delighted, transported with the donkey's vision - side to side though it may have been. His tail wagged both right and left and he got to his feet and jumped upon the broad back of his new companion. Time passed, as it does. The two friends traded stories of woe and wonder, and agreed upon the tastiness of a fresh blade of grass. Suddenly the hound's vision sharpened and he howled at the donkey. "STOP!" Just in front of a huge boulder that lay at the curve of the road was a chicken. She had all her feathers poofed out and she was trying to cover the unyielding rock. The hound woofed a soothing greeting and the donkey's long ears waved twice. Slowly they approached the resolute ball of feathers and bird brains. "Greetings, ma'am." The donkey politely spoke. "Why are you brooding over this great rock?" The chicken looked up at the odd mutant. A two headed donkey, and its second head was that of a hound. Well, she'd heard its tone, and it sounded friendly. She'd never been a prissy chick. She would answer any peep - even if it came from a creature with two heads. "I have a purpose, dear mutant. Oh, that doesn't offend you, does it? Some just can't stand to be called dear. Would you prefer another endearment?" Her feathers caressed the hard surface of the rock as she settled herself more firmly against it. The hound sat up higher on the back of the donkey and scratched at a sudden itch on his ear. He'd heard this sort of talk before, in the camp of the huntsman and his friends - usually after they'd poured some liquid down their throats that smelled quite poisonous - to a hound's nose at least. "Dear is fine with us, ma'am. What exactly is your purpose?" The hound settled back down on the donkey's back and laid his muzzle between it's flickering ears. He was vastly interested in the answer to his question. "I somehow lost my nest at the barnyard. I was there one moment and the next thing I knew I was in a land I didn't recognize. There's no need to worry about the who or the how, or even the why. What's important is the "What Now". For a chicken there is nothing else to do but hatch things. Even the laying is done merely to facilitate a hatching. You know this to be true, don't you, dear mutant?" Her beak preened an errant fluttering feather. The donkey backed up exactly four steps. First his back right hoof, then his back left, then his front left, and finally his front right. The hound whispered in his ear. "What she says is true. The purpose of a chicken is to hatch. The issue, as my keen eyes sees it, is that she has a depth perception problem. Or possibly a case of optimism. She can't see that there is nothing inside that rock that she can bring forth. Yet she hopes to fulfill her purpose on the largest egg shaped thing she's ever seen. She's a treasure. Move forward, friend, and let me speak to her." The donkey's long lashes blinked, but he did as the hound bid. The chicken looked back up as the mutant's shadow cooled her over heated bird brains. She considered the benefits of two heads. She'd heard they were better than one. "Your purpose is Divinely inspired, indeed. But the nature of that rock is to remain as it is. Surely you saw a farmer's house from your barnyard. Wasn't it made of many rocks, such as this, and didn't it remain the same through sun and storm? That is why the farmer used it to shelter his family. It will never change. Not even a brooding chicken - a barnyard full of brooding chickens - could change it's nature with their purpose." A butterfly landed on the top of the rock and added a splash of color to it's neutrality. The donkey turned his head to better look the chicken in the eye. "You should come with us, ma'am. With your purpose you could hatch any number of things. Let the rock be what it is, and don't frustrate yourself with a purpose unfulfillable. Besides, the hound's back will enjoy the feel of your soft feathers and my hooves can hold the both of you." The chicken thought back to the farmer's house and decided the mutant had a point. Besides, she was tired of talking to herself, and she'd never felt even a quiver of change from inside the rock. Her purpose was to hatch, but she'd been taking on the traits of the rock the longer she sat against its unchanging surface. She'd tried, she truly had, but enough was enough. Folding her feathers smoothly against herself, she stood up - taking a moment to watch the butterfly's color disappear into a field of wildflowers as it flew from its perch upon the warm rock. With a quick run, a few flaps, and a loud cluck as the hound's nose gently flung her from mid-air to a perch on his back - her purpose was renewed. A journey begun. This time she knew the who, the how, and even the why. It still didn't matter much. The "What Now" was all she needed to know. === Milk dribbled from the chin of the young goat. His belly was full of the milk of his mother and he wanted to know what happened to the donkey, the hound, and the chicken. "Mama, please tell me more." His little hooves spun the straw on the ground into mini thatched roofs. He went to his mother's face and licked her cheek. She laid her chin across his neck and pulled him close beside her, sheltering him against her warm chest. "I will tell you more, in time, my beloved. But now its time to sleep. What happens to the trio of adventurers - an escaped slave, a cast off friend of man, and a bird brain with a purpose - lies between that rock and the world. But I will tell you this: The world within shapes the world without, and we don't want to be without a world - so think." And as they lay in the comfort of the barn, and let the night and its mysteries enfold them - it was good. Amen. ++++++++++ The Rescue ++++++++++ The young goat ran as quickly as his small hooves could carry him, his eyes were wide with the excitement of yet another new and amazing mystery. His mama knew everything. He would ask her to put her velvety nose against his chest and feel the drum that pounded inside. She would lick his forehead, asking what wonderful thing he had discovered now. Then she would explain - in the way that only his mama could do. '' Mama! Mama!'' He stumbled face first into the trough of grain his mama was eating from, his skinny little legs kicking to right himself so he could stare up into her surprised eyes. A few bits of grain stuck to his nose and he sneezed. Laughing, his mama licked them off and then smoothed the ruffled hair on his forehead, her breath was warm and smelled sweet. ''Look at how hard your heart is beating, my beloved! Something amazing must be happening to bring you running so quickly you fell into my breakfast. Share what your eyes saw, or your ears heard, or your nose smelled, or your skin felt - or was it that you tried to catch another toad with your mouth? '' He stumbled out of the trough and ran and bounced in circles, urging his mother to follow him to the side of the barn and the fence that was nearest to the farmer’s house. '' Come, mama, come and see what the farmer’s wife is doing!'' and off he sprinted, sure his mama would follow. Together they stood at the fence. The little goat pushed his head between the rails as far as he could, while his mama got up on her back hooves for a better view. The farmer’s wife was lifting dirt out of the ground, putting it aside, and then bending and dropping something so small that it could not even be seen from the barnyard into the hole. Then she pushed the dirt back over the same spot and moved a few feet over and did it all over again. '' What is she doing, mama! I have seen the dog, that helps the farmer, dig holes and then drop bones into them. Is that what the farmer’s wife is doing too?'' He butted his head against his mama’s side in anticipation of her answer. ''Are they invisible bones? How will she find them again?!'' He thought he could try and remember where the farmer’s wife was dropping invisible bones, and perhaps he could help her find them when she went to dig them back up - he had seen the dog do exactly that, but those bones could be seen - so the farmer’s wife would have a much harder job trying to find her invisible bones. His mama dropped back to all four hooves, and laid on her side on the soft spring ground. He laid beside her, as close as he could, but kept his bright eyes on the farmer’s wife. ''No, my beloved, those are not bones she is burying. Those are seeds that she is planting.'' She rubbed her chin along his neck. '' Remember the donkey, the hound, and the chicken in the story I told you about the world that you cannot see? The one that is inside your heart and mind. The one that shapes the world you do see?'' He remembered it very well. He remembered what she called the ''moral'' of the story. But he also remembered that it had a funny chicken in it, a brave donkey, and a wise hound. He hoped she was going to tell him more about their adventures. She had promised, and mama always kept her promises to him. But he had to be patient, because she told them ''when the time was right, my beloved''. ''Yes, mama, is there another story that you can tell me now?'' Her head nodded. === The chicken paced back and forth on the edge of a corn field. Every once and again she would use her three clawed toes and scratch at the dirt, then squint, and pick up a seed that had fallen from a cob of corn. The donkey was using his strong teeth to rip the cobs from the stalks and crunching loudly, and the hound was chewing on a bone he had found on the bank of a creek that flowed past the corn field. Their journey had been blessed with good weather and interesting conversation. ''It is a thumbnail, torn from the green thumb of the Faithful Farmer!’' The chicken spat out a rock she had mistaken for a kernel of corn and continued the latest argument. She had seen the farmer and his family tending their crops and closely observing the night sky after a hard day of laboring in the fields and barnyard. They took more care to secure the chicken coop when the Faithful Farmer’s thumbnail was round and whole. Truly the donkey and the hound, (she had forgiven them their attempt to trick her by appearing to her first as a two-headed donkey, with one the head of a hound) were quite interesting, even as a non-mutant creature. She had enjoyed balancing on the back of whichever one claimed to have the worst itch between their ears and gently scratched with her beak until they said, ''Ahhhh, yes, ma’am, that is exactly the spot.'' Sometimes the donkey just brayed, and other times the hound just howled. She kept her clucks to herself. What good was it to cluck to anybody that was not also a chicken - it would never be understood. ''It is a grin from all the cats gathered together to purr for the Great Huntsman!'' The hound had heard many stories in the camp of his huntsman, and whenever the slice of light lit the night sky in just a particular shape, all the huntsmen gathered, pouring bad smelling liquids down their throats, and without fail they all had a story and a name to go with a very particular bright spot of the smile that hung in the soft darkness above them. It made some cry, it made some yell, it made some hoot and sound like the owls hunting through the forest for mice. The hound was sorry his nose had failed him, and almost cost his huntsman putting an arrow through his favorite cat’s heart. He was better now with his friends the donkey and the chicken. There were never any hard boots to kick at him now, and there were plenty of scratches for between his ears. ''It is the face of the Continuous Clock!'' The donkey recalled how much faster his master would demand for him to move the heavy loads of chopped wood during the day when the face of the Continuous Clock was that particular shape in its place in the sunless evening sky. When it was whole, and fresh, the pace would be slower, but when it got down to that glimmering crescent, he knew that the next day he would see more of his master’s stick from the corner of his eye, as it hit his neck and rump. They never seemed to come to an agreement when they had their arguments. Perhaps if the donkey had been a chicken, and the hound a donkey, and the chicken a hound they could all agree on what the shape of the shine in the quiet night meant. As it was - they were all right. And that was alright. The hound’s long ears swung so hard with a swivel of his head, that they covered his eyes. When they fell back into place he turned to face the cornfield, his bone and the cats' smiles of the Great Huntsman forgotten. The donkey stopped crunching, and the cob fell to the fertile soil, he stared at his friend the hound - who was very much better than he at hearing and seeing things quickly. The chicken was staring up at a huge egg that was floating across the face of the sun, it was grey, an odd color for an egg to be. She had no idea how she was to reach it, but it surely did need some brooding from a non-prissy chick. Perhaps if the donkey let the hound stand on his back, and she stood on the hound’s back she would be able to nestle against it. Anything was possible. ''Listen! Do you hear that?'' The hound started forward into the cornfield. The donkey nosed the chicken into place before him, and she clambered up his long face and sat between his ears. Her eyes never left the sight of the grey egg, and she saw that other shapes, not eggs, but the same color were gathering together across the sky. The wind blew colder. The cornstalks bent gracefully from side to side as the donkey’s hooves kept pace with the hound’s paws. His nose was down to the ground, head turning from side to side. Occasionally he would stop and listen. Then a new direction was taken through the maze of cornstalks. ''Dear Hound and Donkey, if I am not mistaken, and I never am - though I can always learn something new that may make my opinion change to a more right one - we are going to wish for a chicken coop to shelter in soon. And there is a very large grey egg above us, that I would like to bring in to sit on'' The donkey tilted his head to the right so that he could turn his eye towards the sky, and then brayed in pain when the chicken grabbed on to his long soft ear with her beak to keep from being tipped off his head and on to the ground. ''Hound, our dear ma’am has noticed that a storm is coming. Shall we seek shelter, though a chicken coop large enough to house that ummm...egg in the sky is likely to not appear.'' He flicked his tail in a questioning manner. The hound ignored everything but what he was hunting. He ran into the cornfield faster than ever, the donkey tried to keep up, but the hound disappeared from his sight. He brayed, and then again. No responsive bark or howl. ''We shall stand stalwart here, ma’am, and wait for our friend to find us again.'' A few light drops of moisture got caught on his eyelashes, and he blinked the rain away. === The little goat jumped to his feet, and ran as fast through the barnyard as he was sure the hound was running through the cornfield. His mama smiled at him. It was hard for him to sit still, even with the soothing of his mama’s voice; this story had him scared. He could not imagine how awful it would be if his mama were lost to him. If he were alone, not knowing what to do. But the donkey had said they would wait. And his mama was right in front of him, so he ran back and settled himself next to her again, and waited for her to continue... === The hound found the sound he sought. A human child, a little girl, sat between the cornstalks, her head was bowed down, all the way to her knees, and her hands covered her head as she rocked back and forth and cried a weak and frightened sound. She made no words, none the hound could understand, but he understood the sound of terror from the throat of a child. He had heard it from his huntsman’s girl child, she had been with her father when his nose had failed him, and he had treed the cat instead of the squirrel that was the quarry of the huntsman. In fact, he believed it was the sharp eyes and terror-filled cry of the child that had stopped the huntsman's hand from releasing the tension on his bow string, before it sent an arrow arcing through the air to end the loved cat’s life. Perhaps he could redeem himself. Not to his huntsman, that would never happen. But within the worthy heart of a good and true hound. He could redeem himself, to himself, by soothing the pain of this girl child. He quietly laid next to her, under the cover of a darkening sky, and the rustling of the cornstalks. He gave a soft whine and nudged his nose against her arm where it covered her ears. She lashed a hand out and smacked the hound on the end of his sensitive nose, but he did not retreat. Her swollen eyes opened at the same time, and her whimpering cries stopped when she saw the kind and droopy eyes of the hound staring at her. He tilted his head. He tilted it back the other way. He was asking her - ''What is wrong, young one.'' The little girl threw her arms around the hound’s neck and laughed, and wiped her tears into his soft coat. She said many words, but the ones he understood best were, ''Good dog!'' and ''Lost.'' He had heard his huntsman grunt that word many a time in the deepest of the forests they hunted. But there were ways to find a path. Signs to look for. In his case - he had his nose. So where ever the little girl had come from, he would be able to bring her home. He licked her face and she giggled. He stood and she stood too. He wagged his tail so fast it went in full circles, and walked around her and then away, towards the place where he had left his friends. The little girl placed her hand in the ruff of his neck and held on. ''Good Hound! I see that you have brought another pair of feet to stand on your back, while I stand on her head - the better for me to reach that grey egg!'' The chicken stopped walking up and down the donkey’s back and tried to wave a wing to get the tear-stained, though smiling, face of the young girl to notice the egg, and her plan to obtain it. ''Ah, worthy hound, you have rescued yet another lost soul. Though it is doubtful if our dear ma’am ever realized she was lost.'' (He had stepped forward and whispered the last part directly into the hound’s ear, he tried to not offend whenever possible.) He used his velvety lips to lightly nibble on the neck of the little girl, and bent his head so that she could scratch his ears. She laughed. ''Yes, my friend, I heard the sounds of the terror of a child, and I could not leave such sounds unsoothed, if it was in my power to help. Now we must slowly follow the path that leads us back to the place where I found her, and then further, to the place that she came from. And I see that the rain is coming faster, and my nose is not what it used to be, so though we must go slow enough for my nose to catch the right scent - we need to hurry or the trail will be lost.'' The donkey knelt down, and the hound woofed at the child to climb upon the donkey’s back. The chicken immediately tried to sit on the girl’s head - the better to reach the grey egg in the sky - but settled for being held in her arms, as the donkey made his lurching way back to his hooves. Then they moved, following the hound’s high tail and snuffling nose. Back to the finding spot. Then onward. A few flickers of lightening shot across the sky. Thunder rumbled. The child was so exhausted she almost fell off the donkey’s back. A quick peck on the hand from the chicken brought a squeal and firmer grip of the donkey’s mane. There was nothing to be seen, but for the blinding height of the stalks of corn. The hound lost the scent of the child, just once. He came to the donkey’s side and stood on his hind feet so that he could sniff deeply the scent of the child. She stroked his head and told him, ''Good dog.'' He carried on, nose to ground, back and forth, moving forward. Far off in the distance a sound came to the hound’s sharp ears. ''Indu!! Indu!! Call to us!! Indu!'' There could be coincidences, but in the hound’s world, that tone of human voice, and his finding a crying girl child meant that the two must come together in order for all to be peaceful. Using both his ears and his nose now, the quartet gained speed, and ignored the soft slapping of the leaves of the cornstalks. Suddenly there appeared a woman between the stalks of corn, her mouth open in a shout. ''Indu! Ind...'' She saw the hound, leading the donkey, that carried her beloved daughter, who carried a chicken, who stared at the sky. She ran and laughed, and cried, and caught her daughter as she lunged from the back of the donkey and into her mother’s arms. The chicken hurriedly hid under the belly of the donkey - she never had liked the way that human beings danced around in joy - there were eggs to hatch. Work to do. Perhaps she could get the little girl to stand on the shoulders of her mother, while the mother stood on the hound, who stood on the back of the donkey, and she could stand on the top and finally reach that grey egg. She edged her way past the embracing mother and daughter and their swinging arms and tapping feet and tried to explain her idea to the hound. ''Well ma’am, I know that you have a purpose, and I applaud your creative ideas, but it appears that the sun has broken through the cover of the rain and your grey egg is gone, but look at the wonder of that rainbow.'' He sat on his haunches and nuzzled the feathers of the chicken as she mourned the loss of her grey egg in the sky. Then he barked, loud and resonating, to greet the rainbow’s coming. === The mother goat looked at her beloved son. A honey bee had landed on a bit of clover just past the fence and caught his attention. She smiled. So many wonders in his world. ''The farmer’s wife has planted a seed. It appears to be lost. But the sun will shine and warm the earth. The rain will fall and wet the earth. Deep inside the shell of the seed, lay the beginning of a beautiful new life. Perhaps it is a flower, or it could be a tomato, possibly it is the seed of a fruit tree and in time it will grow large and offer sweet fruit for the family to eat and share with us. But without the work of all - nothing will grow. Indu was lost, as invisible as a seed planted, but with the help of the hound, the donkey, and even the chicken - though she is a very silly bird, as always - and with the determination of Indu’s mother to find her - a beautiful flower blossomed. Right before our eyes. It is called Family.'' The young goat lost sight of the bee in a carpet of clover, and rolled on his back, kicking his legs in delight. ''We are a family. We are a beautiful flower! The honey bee may come and kiss me!'' He laughed. ''But what about the donkey, the hound and the chicken, mama - what about their family.'' Getting to her feet, the mother goat slowly walked with her son back towards her breakfast grain. ''A family is not always born of blood, it can be born from love. Remember that, my beloved, always.''