Story D
Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2005 8:29 pm
STORY D
Living Next Door To Leonard Cohen
Mas was a slave-in-waiting. In her thirteenth reincarnation, prior to becoming a Juniper tree, she had no idea of what lay before her. Vague recollections of deep warm seas, and attendant creatures, sometimes drizzled through her dreams. Mas dreamt a lot, that’s what cats do.
Mas was nameless. But all creatures have names, or records couldn’t be kept and chaos would reign. Mas’ time in the ocean depths, feeding on plankton and escorted by her offspring had been timeless. Hunger was always the driving force, apart of course, from the periods in past times, when she lived in soil, and water quenched her overwhelming thirsts. Her last surviving kitten demanded that she quenched his ceaseless thirst. She fed him without a thought; accepting life as it was and incapable of self-awareness. That’s what cats do.
The wolf that killed her and the kitten was driven by his own continual hunger. Small for his breed, Nehem was adept at silent hunting. He could feed himself. He didn’t dream, so knew nothing of past agonies, from memory or smell, or feelings.
Nehem hid to escape the black side of life; eat and be eaten. He lived by experience. Wolves do that. The furred meat had been an unusual meal for Nehem, but filling. The wolf slept, and his very first dream was of deep, warm seas. He wet himself; woke uncomfortably and fled his scent, which was all around him. It wasn’t panic as such, but the drive to move on, to go from here, to keep going, a constant echo through Nehem’s incarnations.
His charge through sharp branches, small pools and a collision with a Juniper tree, moved more than flora and fauna. He had prepared the way for a tiny Mas to fall, take root and live again.
Enclosed in her coat of soil, she took several hard winters to spread her many branches. The winters brought water and sleep. Her thirst arose in the warmth that followed. No trace of deep, warm seas remained. She was not hungry, but felt she was missing something that she couldn’t quite define. Trees can’t feel that. Or can they?
Mas pushed deep and flourished. She had to grow fast. Her drive for existence, prevented rivals from taking her water and sunlight. Strong roots and an inherent determination to survive, stood her in good stead for this, her fourteenth and longest, incarnation. Trees can live a long time, then they die. Trees do that.
And in time; a long time, Mas was reborn and was named after her first owner. The first time she would have the name of Mas and recognise it. (As we know, records have to be kept) Her name was a shortened version of Master. Not an original idea, but sufficient for recording purposes. Her Master’s name was Murray Hill. His wife was called Rosaline.
Murray and Rosaline had fled the turmoils of the croft clearances of Scotland. They arrived in North America, childless, and despite their best efforts, remained so. Murray was taken on as a plantation’s farrier by a fellow scot called Lauder. Lauder had grown up in a farming family. However, he had been deported from Scotland while still young, for his part in writing and publishing pamphlets that attacked the monarchy.
Lauder had married an Irish-Catholic nanny who bore him several children. He had used his farming knowledge to begin a plantation. Hill’s wife, Rosaline, was taken on as governess to Lauder’s children.
Lauder steadily improved the plantation, by buying out most of his neighbours’ property. He became comparatively wealthy. He had many slaves. In her fifteenth incarnation, Mas was one of them.
The plantation grew the usual crops, slaves being one of them. Mas, the slave, had a hard life. She felt the scourge of persecution and unrelenting curbs on any attempt to improve her life. Tethered to the plantation, Mas envied the trees their freedom to grow and reach their limits. Staying in one place wasn’t the problem, everything has to be somewhere, but not being allowed to flourish, was inhuman. People are like that.
The civil war freed Mas and the tribe of slaves. Freedom at last. But not yet. It didn’t free the minds of masters. Trapped within their mindset, these dinosaurs couldn’t grasp the element of universal freedom. They are remnants of reincarnated creatures, long extinct. Sadly, some still reappear.
Does reincarnation hone our latent growth as we live out our lives? Who knows? We continue to continue. And so, what of the here and now? And us? We are constant survivors. Always desiring to grow, in our different times and places.
We make our stand. We spread our arms and minds upwards and outwards. Our capacities in this present time, giving us new freedoms to share our world with others. Freedom to go anywhere. Freedom to go everywhere. Untethered. To be with the minds of other beautiful losers.
Not sharing the same street, or same hotel, but sharing our thoughts and aspirations. All of us more alive, and virtually living next door to Leonard Cohen. What more could we ask?
Living Next Door To Leonard Cohen
Mas was a slave-in-waiting. In her thirteenth reincarnation, prior to becoming a Juniper tree, she had no idea of what lay before her. Vague recollections of deep warm seas, and attendant creatures, sometimes drizzled through her dreams. Mas dreamt a lot, that’s what cats do.
Mas was nameless. But all creatures have names, or records couldn’t be kept and chaos would reign. Mas’ time in the ocean depths, feeding on plankton and escorted by her offspring had been timeless. Hunger was always the driving force, apart of course, from the periods in past times, when she lived in soil, and water quenched her overwhelming thirsts. Her last surviving kitten demanded that she quenched his ceaseless thirst. She fed him without a thought; accepting life as it was and incapable of self-awareness. That’s what cats do.
The wolf that killed her and the kitten was driven by his own continual hunger. Small for his breed, Nehem was adept at silent hunting. He could feed himself. He didn’t dream, so knew nothing of past agonies, from memory or smell, or feelings.
Nehem hid to escape the black side of life; eat and be eaten. He lived by experience. Wolves do that. The furred meat had been an unusual meal for Nehem, but filling. The wolf slept, and his very first dream was of deep, warm seas. He wet himself; woke uncomfortably and fled his scent, which was all around him. It wasn’t panic as such, but the drive to move on, to go from here, to keep going, a constant echo through Nehem’s incarnations.
His charge through sharp branches, small pools and a collision with a Juniper tree, moved more than flora and fauna. He had prepared the way for a tiny Mas to fall, take root and live again.
Enclosed in her coat of soil, she took several hard winters to spread her many branches. The winters brought water and sleep. Her thirst arose in the warmth that followed. No trace of deep, warm seas remained. She was not hungry, but felt she was missing something that she couldn’t quite define. Trees can’t feel that. Or can they?
Mas pushed deep and flourished. She had to grow fast. Her drive for existence, prevented rivals from taking her water and sunlight. Strong roots and an inherent determination to survive, stood her in good stead for this, her fourteenth and longest, incarnation. Trees can live a long time, then they die. Trees do that.
And in time; a long time, Mas was reborn and was named after her first owner. The first time she would have the name of Mas and recognise it. (As we know, records have to be kept) Her name was a shortened version of Master. Not an original idea, but sufficient for recording purposes. Her Master’s name was Murray Hill. His wife was called Rosaline.
Murray and Rosaline had fled the turmoils of the croft clearances of Scotland. They arrived in North America, childless, and despite their best efforts, remained so. Murray was taken on as a plantation’s farrier by a fellow scot called Lauder. Lauder had grown up in a farming family. However, he had been deported from Scotland while still young, for his part in writing and publishing pamphlets that attacked the monarchy.
Lauder had married an Irish-Catholic nanny who bore him several children. He had used his farming knowledge to begin a plantation. Hill’s wife, Rosaline, was taken on as governess to Lauder’s children.
Lauder steadily improved the plantation, by buying out most of his neighbours’ property. He became comparatively wealthy. He had many slaves. In her fifteenth incarnation, Mas was one of them.
The plantation grew the usual crops, slaves being one of them. Mas, the slave, had a hard life. She felt the scourge of persecution and unrelenting curbs on any attempt to improve her life. Tethered to the plantation, Mas envied the trees their freedom to grow and reach their limits. Staying in one place wasn’t the problem, everything has to be somewhere, but not being allowed to flourish, was inhuman. People are like that.
The civil war freed Mas and the tribe of slaves. Freedom at last. But not yet. It didn’t free the minds of masters. Trapped within their mindset, these dinosaurs couldn’t grasp the element of universal freedom. They are remnants of reincarnated creatures, long extinct. Sadly, some still reappear.
Does reincarnation hone our latent growth as we live out our lives? Who knows? We continue to continue. And so, what of the here and now? And us? We are constant survivors. Always desiring to grow, in our different times and places.
We make our stand. We spread our arms and minds upwards and outwards. Our capacities in this present time, giving us new freedoms to share our world with others. Freedom to go anywhere. Freedom to go everywhere. Untethered. To be with the minds of other beautiful losers.
Not sharing the same street, or same hotel, but sharing our thoughts and aspirations. All of us more alive, and virtually living next door to Leonard Cohen. What more could we ask?
. I love the way you worked through various reincarnations, whilst keeping the reader sympathetic to the needs and beings of each.
to "reader" 
.