Beyond His Experience

Beyond His Experience

by Alex L. Mauldin

In theory, one is aware that the earth revolves, but in practice one does not perceive it; the ground upon which one treads seems not to move, and one can live undisturbed. So it is with Time in one's life.

We do not receive wisdom, we have to discover it for ourselves by a voyage that no one can take for us,....a voyage that no one can spare us.

- Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past: Within a Budding Grove, 1918

Jody came to a great, gnarled root at the base of a thick and mammoth tree. The root plunged into the ground and then reared above the earth only to burrow back into the dirt. He reached down and grasped part of the root, pulling with all of his strength as if he could pry it loose. It wouldn't give. Not even a fraction.

Looking up, Jody spotted a small nest high in the branches. He leapt up and caught hold of one of the tree's arms and pulled himself up off the ground. With effort he was able to climb high into the tree, finding his way carefully to where the nest was wedged into a knot of small branches far above the ground. He peered into it, as though he were peering into a small, dark, and mysterious corner of the universe. It was empty. There was no sign of what had created it or what it had once contained. It was merely a disappointment.

Jody looked down and saw how far away the great roots were. From high above they looked like fingers at the end of a long arm, grabbing a handful of the tough land. From up here he had perspective. Down there he seemed to have nothing but questions.

Leaning back he peered higher up into the tree. He couldn't see the top, nor much further beyond where he now sat. As he shifted his weight, the limb snapped angrily and Jody felt his grip loosen on everything holding him up. Just before closing his eyes he saw the ground rushing up to catch him.

Jody awoke to a world of white. White walls. White sheets. White bandages covering his pale, white skin. Everything was drained of color. Everything was out of focus.

His mother's voice drifted in and out of his understanding. Her words meant nothing, but her voice was comfort. Her voice was something to grasp on to. Jody watched his mother's voice swell and ebb in colors. The purples and yellows and vibrant greens poured from one end of the room to the other. Her voice washed over the numbing whiteness of the room and wrapped around the mummified boy. What she said he could never recall. What she meant he'd live with forever.

One year later Jody stood taller at the roots of the great tree. High above the boy the nest was gone. Three others had taken its place; one even higher than where Jody had once been. The roots still had not released their iron grip on the land. He sat and leaned against the trunk of the tree, feeling its rough skin press against his back through his thin shirt. He reached down and grabbed the dirt, trying to imitate the roots around him. There must be a secret, he thought. There must be a way to hold on and not be able to let go. His fingers dug into the earth, but they would not hold. Each time he pulled away he hoped that he wouldn't be able to.

Finally, his fingers aching, Jody stood and stared up into the tree. He then looked down and found a small rock, which he picked up. He hurled the rock up into the tree and through the branches he would never climb. Long after he lost sight of it, he could hear the rock knocking aside leaves and tumbling off branches. Just when he thought the rock would never come back down, it dropped from the tree and landed at his feet. The rock was still. The rock was permanent. It had found the earth again and would not move further. Jody picked up the rock to save as a memory. He then turned and walked away, never to see that tree again.

Copyright © 1997 Alex L. Mauldin

Last update: 4/26/2005; 10:14:50 PM.