by R. D Rhodes
But if nature makes original thought, and blesses us, and trees suckle up our negative thoughts, and you receive some sort of wisdom from it all, then maybe that’s why so many people are miserable now? People struggle to realise themselves not just because of constant social media, but because they no longer can go out in nature. If it’s places like this where original thought is created- the wild, natural places free from other people, and if these places are disappearing, where are they going to go for peace and solitude? For their mind to roam in their imagination like Einstein had said? If the best of civilization is created from the ideas these places give us, will society disintegrate when these places decline too much, while man continues to cut them down to turn them into farms and cities? Even with the windfarm next to Cannich, it’s just more and more urbanization. More concrete in the ground, more technology. What is going to happen to us?
There was a lone house about a mile ahead, tucked in from the lochside. I kept going. Your thoughts can be special in a place like this. They can make you original, make you an individual even. But I’m contradicting myself. But can you be individual if there is no natural world?
What are you on about? Nothing. I’m dumb as fuck. I know nothing. But what even is an individual?! Where does your individual identity come from? And if you’re not taking it from nature, and the forest, where does identity come from?
The house was about a half mile away. The red roof sloping down to a huge glassed conservatory that looked out over the water. I thought about it, From culture, I thought, and social groups. All identities come from social groups. That is what we do- judge and categorize, even though Jesus said never judge. What an idealist, utopian dreamer he was! But yes, people make their own and other people’s identities, and then they divide each other into those groups. It’s tribal so maybe it’s always been that way. Like political parties. You’re a conservative, I’m a labour. You have that belief, I have this belief, so I am against you. We can’t meet on common ground. I love my country, and you are from a different
country, so I am against you. And football teams too. Your group vs my group. Nothing will ever come of that. Or will it?
The rain came down harder. I rubbed my face with it, and felt my soaking trousers getting heavier. There were no bushes around the garden, and I could see straight into the house’s green lawn. I pulled my hood up.
Some say only love will save the world, and it’s such a tired, lazy cliché. But that feeling of love is the most powerful thing I have ever felt- here, from these trees, and from those meditations… But..even love is tribal on this earth too! Families give love all the time. A mother’s love for her child. A love for your baby. Is there anything stronger than that? A lot of parents truly want what is best for them, would give up everything for their babies to thrive. But that love is tribal. And restrictive. It is love only for your family, your “group”, and to protect them from the unloving, unlovable, world outside. Remember that family on the train! The dad with his two wee daughters, and him being uncomfortable so that they were comfy. And the man putting his son in warm clothes at that house in Exeter, while I watched from the cycle path. All that love, is only for their own. They keep it locked inside a cave. They contain it instead of spreading it beyond. Maybe that was what Jesus meant by “loving your neighbours and enemies as you do yourself?”
Family love. Love of a football club. A country. A political party. An ideology. A sportsman. A clan. A position. A social group. They are all identities. But identities are created by humans, and humans are prone to human error. We always make mistakes! But if families could take their love and spread it, and countrymen could take their love and spread it, and football supporters, and everyone else too. If they could all take this great, vibrant love they have for their identities and their small social dynamics, and spread it far and wide, this world is saved. If they can love the world as selflessly as they love their own children, then this world is saved!
The stone drive from the house crossed over the road I walked on and continued into the forest on my right. I saw the village ahead and turned back. I had no money on me, and half a bag of rice to feed myself.
But it doesn’t matter, I thought. It’ll work out, or I’ll starve. So what? But what was I thinking? Identities. Yes, and all these identities and divisions are created by opinions.
But…I wondered, all my opinions that I have had throughout my life, could I ever be peaceful with them? When I was judging the hell out of Glasgow, and all those poor bastards, how did I feel? I didn’t feel content, or peaceful. But at times I feel content here... But is it possible to be opinionated, yet also peaceful and content, at the same time? I thought about that for a while. The rain came down sideways, and the wind picked up, making great bulging swells on the loch.
I left the house behind me, observing my boots taking me back home….But anyway, what do you do exactly, when you are content? What would I have done if I had stayed in that wonderful frame of mind that I have been in some days this week? Do you try to make that last forever? Is that not selfish? Could I stay in these woods forever, by myself, and not try to make a difference in this world? Is that not selfish?
The rain lashed down and the wind whipped up till it sounded like an angry monster, rolling bigger waves across the loch in my direction. I turned into the shelter of the woods. I thought of people I’d read about waking up after surgery, and suddenly speaking in an obscure language of a country they had never even been to. I thought about D.N.A, and soul chambers, and Jesus, and Einstein. I thought about my body being just a shell, which made me really glad because it gave meaning for my suffering if I had a soul, and suffering teaches us empathy, which is one of the greatest things there is. And I thought how little the outside shell matters, and that I shouldn’t ever give a shit about what someone looks like.
I trekked right, through the trees, and the slope was very slight, and I felt like taking off my boots and socks, so I did, and walked with my boots in my hands. The muddy earth was soft and wet beneath my feet. I was sheltered from the wind and the rain. The red pine branches bent over me, their green boughs splayed out like roofs, and I thought, nature is my church. These trees are the cathedrals. These places are spirituality, and transcendence. This is the high place of worship and religion. Maybe God is elsewhere, and in the city too, but he’s closer here than anywhere else. I just want to preserve all of this, all of this sacred forest. To look after it and for no harm to come to it. God is around me, talking to me, loving me. Is the wind the breath of God?
I heard the sound of the stream, then ahead through the trees, I saw the tent.
A pair of legs poked out from the entrance.
Chapter 59
M y bare feet squelched in the mud. The rain drummed on the trees and the tent roof. I drew closer to the boots sticking out from the bottom of the jeans.
“Harry?”
The flap of the entrance suddenly swept back, and the Queen’s face stared out at me, making me leap back. I heard that familiar cheeky laugh, saw him smiling that joyful smile as he took off the mask, and he jumped to his feet and ran to me and gave me a hug.
“Bastard.” I chuckled into his ear. “I got a fright there.”
Harry pulled his face away, the mask in his left hand draping over my shoulder. His black eyes were glittering, and a warm rosy glow beaconed his cheeks above the purple-red of his exposed neck. Already the curls in his hair had started to grow back.
“Hahaha. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. “This was left on the bus,” he lifted the mask, “But look at you! Something’s happened to you! You look amazing!”
“What do you mean?” I felt myself grinning. As much as I’d enjoyed being by myself, I was delighted to see him again too.
“You’re radiant!”
I smiled again. “These last days have been, mental.”
He kept looking up at me. I had forgotten how small and thin he was. “Why? What happened?”
“I’ll te
ll you about it later. Long story. What about you?”
“Long story, too.” He glanced down and grinned, “And barefoot as well. Are you being Pocahontas or something?”
The rain was still thrashing down, so we went into the tent and heated up water in the pot. Harry opened up a plastic bag and when he pulled out the tub of hot chocolate I almost burst with joy. He showed me the other powdered and dried foods, the foldaway fishing rod, the new saw and knife, the mini towels, and various other things he’d picked up.
I sipped the smooth, rich, creamy, hot chocolate. I thought it was the best thing I had ever tasted.
The light was dim inside the tent, but it was only due to the weather, and we had plenty daylight left.
“I’m sorry. I had to go.” Harry said.
“It worked out for the best.” I replied. “I feel.. so alive just now. I’ve had just, the greatest week. I feel like I’ve learned so much.”
“What happened?”
I told him what I could. About the other glen, and the trees I spoke to, the stuff in my mind, the messages I was receiving, and the feather. He never looked skeptical. His eyes on me remained fixed and calm. As I told him, and summarized it for myself, I felt a rush of endorphins go to my head. I felt blessed for it to have happened to me.
“Wow.” He said. “Can we go to that other glen? Can you show me?”
“Sure. We can go tomorrow?”
“That would be amazing.”
“I’m so happy for you.” He added, sincerely.
“Thanks.” I smiled. “So, what happened with you?”
“Well, you know I told you before, I hate keeping still. I just felt too restless at the end of last week. Too anxious, as you could tell, I guess. I always run, and move, I need to keep stimulated. I’m addicted to that energy, and when I’m in one place I just, go crazy. It’s partly I think because I start to remember the things that happened to me, and just, like I said before, things always went wrong if I stayed in one place too long..I’d…Anyway, I didn’t tell you, but one of my step-brothers, and an old foster family, still live in Inverness. I went to see them both. The family first. I stayed with them for six months when I was eleven. They were really happy to see me! I ended up staying three days with them. And then with my brother, at his apartment. Don’t worry, I told them I was working as a KP in Glasgow. They don’t know about Sleepyhillock.”
“Good.” I said. “But did you not want to stay longer?”
“Nah. I stayed my welcome period. Any longer would have been awkward, and my brother and me don’t get on that great.”
“Ah, ok.” I said.
“What’s a KP?”
“Oh. Kitchen porter.” Harry replied. “Dishwasher.” He scratched his head. “But seeing them all, brought home a lot of stuff to me. I have a lot of stuff to work through. Personal things too, I guess.” He shrugged and forced a smile.
“What about your parents? You interested-
“Nah, fuck them.” He sipped his hot chocolate. Steam wafted up from his cup into the dome of the tent and evaporated through the ceiling. His frown straightened out and he sighed contentedly, looking into his cup, “Ah! This is bloody good. Just like the Mayans.” He took another loud slurp. “Oh! And I wrote letters!” his eyes widened, “To the care commission, the police, and the government,” he looked at me, “they’ll never know where I sent it from though. And I sent one to Sanders too, and I stuck a picture of me in the envelope, with a photoshopped desert island background, hahaha!”
I laughed too. “Imagine the look on her face!” Harry cried, holding the right side of his belly. “The picture was naked as well.”
I laughed even louder. “You sent her a nude?”
“Ahahaha. Nah, I’m joking, it wasn’t nude. But I would have loved to have seen her face anyway. Fuck. Haha.”
His joy calmed. “After that I checked online, to see if there’d been any reports about us, but nothing at all! Even in the Chemsford gazette, and the Exeter paper, no mention of the hospital. I couldn’t find anything. On Nina either. So she must still be alive.”
“Why would they not put out anything, though?” I wondered.
“I dunno. Who cares! We’re safe!”
The light outside felt about four o’clock. Harry took the fishing rod out of the bag again. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? What a cracker. Can’t wait to use this, harpoon some trout, or a Loch Affric monster. I saw one on the way back. Big bastard he was.”
Night came in and the rain got heavier, so we stayed inside the tent instead of having a fire. Throughout, I felt a calling to go out and talk to the trees, but instead, as we lay aside each other in the pitch black, I closed my eyes and went to them in my mind.
The morning sky was grey, again. The wind pushed the clouds across, and a dreich rain held in the air.
“What’s this? Pine needles?” Harry asked, looking into the cup I’d poured hot water into, which had turned light green.
“Yup. Drink it. It’s good for you.”
“I know. They’ve got loads of vitamin C, and are anti-septic, and anti-inflam-
“Yes, Bear Grylls. I know.” I joked. “I thought we might drink our piss later too.”
Harry laughed. “I’m Ray Mears, actually. You know, I didn’t ever hear about the native Americans needing to backflip out of a helicopter for survival. Or drink their own pee. Or semen.”
“Yeah, they did. They drank gallons of it. That was their main source of protein.”
“Haha, he should do that. It’s all for good entertainment.”
“…He is cool, though.” I said. “Great climber. I’ve climbed quite a few trees myself this week, and mountains. There’s a really cool big oak I climbed, on the way to the glen. I’ll show you it.”
Harry shuffled on the stone and observed the firepit’s wet black ashes. “Looks like you’ve had that fire lit a few times. Why did you move it here?”
“There was too much wind before. I needed to. Yeah, I’ve had it lit a few times. I’ve cracked it. But we need to build a shelter to dry out the wood. Then we’ll be sorted.”
“Instead of putting it in the tent all the time. Good idea. We can use the saw I got.”
“Or your hot air?” I said.
Harry stuck up his middle finger.
Chapter 60
W e trudged through the sludgy ground, down to the bridge, and up the rivers side, passing the canyon’s drop and going on towards the waterfall and whirlpool.
“So, do the trees run away, when nobody is watching them? Like the toys in Toy Story?” Harry grinned.
“Or like the Lord of The Rings,” I laughed. “Maybe they do. One of them told me that, occasionally, on the few times when Scotland is too hot, they all get up and go for a swim in the loch.”
“Oh! Really? Is that why you sometimes see trees floating down the river? It’s because they can’t swim?”
“Ha-ha”…”But seriously, though,” I said, “it felt like they have a sense of humour. Sometimes they were laughing at me, in a nice way.”
“I want to try and get into meditating too.” Harry said. Then five seconds later asked “Do I have to get naked to communicate with them?”
“They don’t wanna see that, Harry.”
“Maybe they do. I’ll ask them. Maybe that’s why that branch wouldn’t let me hang myself? I wasn’t naked.”
“Sarcastic bastard. You’re crackin’ the jokes today.”
The rain fizzled out and the sun replaced it, breaking light through the sky. Shortly after, a rainbow materialized. And then a second, lighter-coloured rainbow propped up its side.
“Woah!” I said, awe-struck. “It’s so beautiful. That’s the first one I’ve seen here.”
“It won’t be the last.” Harry said.
We walked on up along the ridge, looking down to our left at the waterfall.
“I bought a newspaper,” Harry said, “a few days ago. Just because I haven’t read one in so long,” he excused himself, �
�There was this boy. Got charged. I think he was nineteen. For going into an old people’s home- dressed as the grim reaper. Haha! Can you imagine that? Poor bastards. Could have easily killed someone.
..Saying that though, I wonder how many do die, on Halloween, when the costumed kids come to the door?”
“You really don’t like old people, do you?” I said.
He laughed heartily. “No comment.” He smirked at the ground.
“Oh!” he added. “And in Glasgow somebody nailed a memorial to the bench in Kelvingrove park. Do you know how people make those little plaques to their loved ones in their memory? Well, this one said- Sadam Hussain, R.I.P, Nineteen-sixty-three to two-thousand-and-three. HAHAHAHA.”
“I bet people were happy with that.”
“Oh, naturally. They were delighted.”
A red squirrel cut out across us from the undergrowth, and scurried up a tree, stopping halfway to look around, then running up again. We watched it for a good ten minutes, until we couldn’t see it anymore.
“So beautiful.” Harry commented.
“I know.”
The valley was silent but for the water. As we stood there together, complicity taking in that quietness, while looking up into the trees for another glimpse of the squirrel, it felt like we were sharing a special moment.
“You know why he didn’t come across from the river?” Harry said seriously.
I shook my head, and looked at him earnestly, prepared to be imparted with some more knowledge of his, or a quote from some philosopher.
“So that he didn’t get his nuts wet.” Harry laughed.
