Wonder blooms the eyes of innocents in a world filled with magnificence. What truths are restored when we walk through the door and are changed forevermore?
One Little Boy’s View
Life seemed sublime as a small child before entering the school system. Time was measured by the clouds passing and by the wind blowing through tree leaves. Growing up in Southern California afforded me a special time on its stately beaches. I was new to this landscape, coming from the Midwest which had forests, rivers, and streams. The Midwest was a place of treehouses, underground forts, swinging vines, and all the creatures of nature free to roam. When I first arrived in Southern California, it had many of those things too, but progress was quickly turning it into a concrete jungle. For now, though, in my childhood, it was my new forest where all waterways led to the Pacific Ocean.
My father worked day and night on his fledgling business, attempting to do what most were doing in the new frontier of commerce in America. He was either working or sleeping and had no time to play or take me to the beach. My mother, on the other hand, hadn’t started back into the workforce yet. She would drive me down to the beach to play while she sunbathed on its golden sand. My father found the cove of Crescent Bay Drive in his explorations of the California coastline. It was in the artistic community of Laguna Beach, not too far from our home. My friends in the Midwest would have been so jealous of such a mystical place full of caves, tide pools, and a sandy beach with perfect waves. At first, my mother and father loved exploring this treasured paradise with me, but “I have to go to work” became my father’s excuse.
My mother wasn’t so interactive with an energetic boy who just wanted to play. She, however, had never played with me in the forest across the street from our house in Kansas either. I really didn’t think anything of it because I didn’t see my friends’ moms and dads playing with them either. The world around me became my playground and adventure. I loved the symbiosis I felt with nature, and nature spoke very clearly to me.
There were so many unsuspected friends showing up in that forest, and they were all vying for my attention. Everyone wanted to play with me, and they would literally call my name. Trees were the first to answer my thoughts in a very low whisper, asking, “Why are you feeling loneliness?”
“Am I alone?” I asked.
Speaking with the lungs of the world’s wind, they whispered with their rustling leaves and laughed. “No, we’re right here!” Trees were my grandfathers in my early childhood, exciting my imagination with stories and answering my questions every day in our growing conversations.
California’s Pacific Ocean was very much like those Midwest trees, using the breeze to chat. We quickly became new friends in my new life on the West Coast. The oceans had two identities that clearly spoke to me. There were very strong father and mother energies, and they wanted to raise me. I felt happy with them and was eager to learn. Unlike the trees, I could see them take form.
The swelling sea’s reflective surface appeared shapely at first, like the body of a woman covered in jewels. Those jewels glimmered so brightly in the golden light of the sun it made it hard for me to see. Her soft, cool hands, made of water, embraced me with a laugh. Then she stroked my face with little splashes, playfully giggling. After that, to my surprise, she whispered in my ear, “Would you like to talk with a friend?” Her gentle feminine voice made me trust her like the soft whispered wisdom from my grandfather trees.
My childish personality was curious about talking with someone, and I excitedly asked, “How!”
She responded, “Pat your hand on the surface of my skin and talk by tapping feelings and words.”
I was happy and eager to meet someone. I started tapping my first message: “Hello, can anyone hear me?”
Suddenly I heard a message singing off the surface of the water: “Yes, I hear you!”
How could this be? I pondered.
Lady Ocean smiled back at me and said, “I told you.” I looked around to make sure no one was watching me because this was a private message.
“Where are you?” I tapped back in a singing whisper so no one would hear me.
“I’m at the beach. Where are you?” she quickly said out loud. It was a girl’s singing voice.
“I’m at the beach too!” I sang very loudly that time because I wanted to be sure she heard me. Then I heard another female voice calling me. It was my mother telling me to come. I told the little girl’s voice to come back the next day so we could talk and sing some more, and I was so happy when she said, “Yes.”
That summer I begged my mom to take me to the beach every day, and she would oblige. She loved to tan while I continued to learn about my new friend at the beach. Lady Ocean loved our conversations and would make sure our calls went through right away. I was delighted because I had a friend to play with, even if she was a girl. There was another voice teaching us how to play with water. A very fatherly giant smiling figure would rise from the ocean, blow an enormous conch shell, and make little waves for us to ride on. She and I would simultaneously ride them to shore and then talk about how fun it was. Mother and Father Ocean were very happy watching us play all summer long. Their sweet smiles stood by to send our messages and little waves until we were content, or our mothers would call us in.
It was late afternoon when my mom called me to come in from the water’s edge. Summer was about to end, and a whole new world was vying for my attention. I had no idea what changes were coming for me and my symbiosis with Mother and Father Ocean. How could I know this lifestyle would come to an abrupt end? The new world we moved to was already deciding the lives of my parents. School was a harsh place, and it seemed to me it was not safe to talk about sending messages on the water or talking to trees. My mom and dad no longer had time to listen to my little boy's dreams about summer’s return. On the first day of summer, I wanted to rush to the water’s edge to sing to my friend. My parents told me no beach this year and that it was a family year back in the Midwest. I would be with my grandparents and cousins, and it would be fun.
Now every summer I went back to the Midwest to work on our family’s farm and be with family. Even at such a young age, they told me, boys need to learn about responsibility. Every boy in our family was trained about how a farm works to learn a work ethic. Soon I learned to enjoy the farm, the church, and my cousins. But I never forgot the little girl that meant so much to me.
One Little Girl’s View:
I was a little girl in paradise every June when my parents went on their getaway from the madness of India to the shores of Lakshadweep. They loved the monsoon season in the Maldives because it didn’t rain all night and day. Monsoon rain in these islands was sporadic, and it was hot in the day with storms to relieve the heat in the afternoons and cooler at night. We would get up at the crack of dawn from a thatched roof cabana at a beach cove my dad and grandfather had built years ago. When my father was just a boy, this was a very special bonding time for him and his grandfather. The little hut had lots of memories from three generations, each adding to a cozy family retreat. My mother and father cherished every moment, being sentimental and loving to each other. They took morning coffee and gleefully watched the sunrise from the deck every morning. Now they enjoyed me from their hut on the water, jumping and playing in the beautiful, warm azure sea.
This was an unusual day, according to my parents reading astrology in the local newspaper from the island. I didn’t think much about it until I jumped into the water. I noticed a holophonic voice singing from its surface. It was like a whale’s echo on documentary shows, only with human words that sang right into my ears. My mother noticed me tilting my head to hear the water sing and tapping on its surface. She told my father, “Look at our Shalika’s strange little game.”
He looked at my mother after noticing me and said, “That’s very odd, but look how happy it makes her.” I could barely hear them, but I could see them smile, kiss, and hold hands while they watched me play under the morning sun of this magical place.
We were having a marvelous summer, and I knew the little boy I was playing with was too. Little girls just know when they’re talking to little boys, and he was a sweet one. The morning had transformed into the afternoon, and it was beginning to rain, so I had to ask him and shouted, “Is it raining on your beach?”
He replied, “No, it’s very sunny here and you don’t have to shout.”
I saw that clouds were just over her head and thought he must have been on a beach nearby. So I asked him, “Are you on an island somewhere?”
“I’m not sure, I guess I could be,” he sang to me. “All I see is ocean and sand.”
I sighed and felt like he might be somewhere near, which gave me comfort.
I had to tell him in a normal voice, “We are close to each other, I just know it.”
Then I could hear my father call, “Come canoe with me and your mother around the island, little flute.”
“Okay, Dad!” I yelled and told my new friend, “I have to go; we’re about to go canoeing!”
He yelled, laughing, “I wish I could canoe with you, but I will see ya tomorrow!”
We got in a little old canoe Dad treasured and kept hidden in a secret place on the island. His grandfather and father had made it many years ago as a way to explore the thousand little islands. I knew because every year, he told my mom the story about how his father and grandfather canoed until they found this extraordinary island. “Paradise” was the word his father used to describe how special it was. A part of our family tradition was to paddle up the island's center on a freshwater stream to remember their special day of discovery.
At the center was a wonderful waterfall that fell into a pond held together by the massive roots of a banyan tree my father told me was thousands of years old. The grandfather tree’s canopy stretched out wide, and it was more than a hundred feet tall. Every time we paddled up, I couldn’t help myself from singing until we reached the magic waterfall. Perhaps my father loved taking me here just to hear me sing, or perhaps he just loved to throw me into the cool, clear pond at the waterfall's base. My mom always jumped in after me to make sure I came up for air. I could hold my breath for a long time, and the water was so clear I could watch her coming for me. We both started laughing underwater as we reached the surface to find my father ready to throw me up in the air again. As we left to take our yearly journey up the stream, I couldn’t help but think about the little boy.
My mom and dad took me to the island the next summer after a long year of schooling and work. I couldn’t wait to return to paradise to send messages to my little boyfriend. The second we arrived, I ran to the edge of the water, singing all the way. I knew he would be excited and waiting to hear me sing. I tapped and tapped on the water, but I heard nothing back. I waited and waited for a reply, but there wasn’t any. I became very sad that I had no one to play with anymore and ran into my father’s arms, crying.
“My blessed little one, what is troubling you?” my dad asked.
I told him, still sobbing, “I can’t find the little boy.” I had to explain to him what happened last summer on the water and suddenly I felt a worrisome silence.
My father looked up into my tearful eyes and said, “Sometimes, the waters of life drift in ways we never imagined.” Then he held me tight.
My dad dried what was left of my crocodile tears, and I asked him, sniffling, “Do you think I will hear from him again, Daddy?”
“Yes, my sweet daughter, I know so. There is nothing on this earth that can keep two people with that strong of a connection apart. Look at your mother and me; she was the magic I sought, and I was hers. Ours was not an arranged marriage; we discovered each other, and both our families could not deny it. It will happen, my flute that brings happiness.”
I cuddled up in his cozy arms along with my mother as we all enjoyed the sunrise. I sighed to let out all the stress, caught in the joy of love that only a bonded family could have. I know I’m adored and cared for as a precious flower, and my parents love me.
When we returned to our home in India, my parents told me it was time for me to have the finest classical education. In our country, English as a second language, science, and Hindu and Buddhist literature would be my new life. I would never forget the island or those little taps on the water that summoned the little boy’s heart. Phenomena had to be centered in something more than myth, and this world had many mysteries to offer other than the apparent.
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