Wallynut

After lying in the grass for a long time, if there is time in this place, I had an urge to stand up. I looked around and the landscape had changed, much more like Earth. I was in a little wood, The Hundred Acre Wood, was the thought and I half expected to see Winnie or Piglet. Off in the distance was a small pond and I started walking toward it slowly. It was clearly Autumn. The path I was walking was covered with leaves of every color, vibrant, beautiful, but not too different that this couldn’t actually be Earth.

As I walked, I could see a figure ahead sitting by the water, but I couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman, or a girl or boy for that matter. As I got closer, the figure got less distinct, which I felt odd, as I, of course, expected it to be clearer. Then I was very close and the figure solidified and I could see quite clearly that it was a little girl sitting on a chair, but not a lawn chair, but the kind of chair you might see in a nursery, child-size. She was signing softly a melody I did not recognize. She glanced up at me and then looked away. Then she jumped up and began following little frogs that were jumping up and down. The frogs were chasing flying insects and I could distinctly see their little tongues stretch out and grab an insect and swallow it. It was as if I could see in slow motion, and that the images were magnified somehow. I suspected it was the little girl doing it and all of a sudden I realized there was more to her than I first thought. I had been about to say “Hi, sweetie, what’s your name,” but she gave me another one of those meaningful glances and I stopped myself immediately. It was almost like she had not given me permission to speak yet and I was supposed to watch and learn. So I did.

We walked and skipped around that pond for days it seems, but again time doesn’t have the same meaning there as it does here, but suffice it to say that it was a lengthy and meaningful experience for me. In the past, I have gotten bored at times when hanging around children.

I know that many people say that children are our future, that they are so cute, that they are intimately wise, that we can learn so much from them, blah, blah, blah, I say blah, blah, because that hasn’t been my experience. Yes for short periods of time and in certain circumstances. But most of the time, I have found them to be demanding, inconsiderate, selfish, and hurtful to each other and especially to adults, and totally oblivious to the needs of those around them, especially adults.

My experience with this girl was much different. We did not speak a word, and I offered nothing to her, no advice, no suggestions as to what she should or shouldn’t do, and I had no judgments. She ignored me and simply flitted around, following insects and frogs, birds and fishes. At times she was in the water swimming. The next minute she was lying on the sand or the grass. Early on, I found myself wanting to say something, like “Watch out for that” or “Are you sure you want to do that?” or “That’s not safe,” but I said nothing. Somehow I knew it was not appropriate. After a while the urges stopped and I found myself interested in what she might do next, and at times imitating her. I expected to be worn out, but was not. Perhaps there is something about this place that sustains one.

All of a sudden she was back in her little chair and I was sitting next to her, each of us facing the pond. There were very large birds fishing in the pond, and we watched as they grabbed the fish and flew away. Finally she turned and looked into my eyes and asked one question: “Why do all those humans hate my mommy?” It was at that moment when I knew she was Caylee and I literally fell out of my chair. All sorts of emotions flooded me. I wanted to reassure her that it wasn’t true, but I knew I couldn’t lie to her, not in this place, and not after sharing so much silence. I got back in my chair and tried to look her in the eye and she asked a different question: “Why are you mad at my mommy?”

“Because she should have taken better care of you” I managed to say. She waiting silently as she knew that wasn’t all of it, so I continued. “Because you are precious. Because I think she killed you. Because she went out and partied after you died. Because she got way with it. Because she was too smug. Because she lied to the police. Because she thinks she is so perfect. Because she got away with other stuff. BECAUSE IT ISN’T FAIR.” I raised my voice on that last one.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked. I wanted to say “You asked,” but didn’t. I remembered how many times I had said to little ones “Who ever told you life was fair?” and felt a bit ashamed.

“Why?” I asked, with pleading in my voice.

“Why what?” she replied.

More emotion poured out of me. All the injustices I experienced or thought I experienced. All the disappointments and sufferings. She smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of disgust or a smile of superiority, or a smile of pity. It was a smile of compassion.

“How can you forgive her?”

“And what makes you think there is something to forgive,” she asked so wisely.

“You mean she didn’t kill you, she didn’t abuse you, she didn’t neglect you?”

She gave me that look that she had given me when I first met her. I now understood the look to mean that the question was irrelevant.

“Look around,” she gestured.

I did as instructed and the landscape changed, or perhaps I could see that which I couldn’t see before. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of beings around.  Some appeared to be old men or old women, some were tiny little sprites, or mythical figures, unicorns, mermaids in the water, fairies flying around, angels flying and demons lurking. I was of course enthralled. Hundreds were watching her every move, not as protectors, but as students.

“O.K. now stop a minute and tell me what you have learned today.”

I sat for a long time reflecting on that question. I slowly breathed and felt into myself. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, “and it all matters.”

“Can you share that with the humans out there who are still hating? Maybe send a tweet or something,” she laughed. All of a sudden there were thousands of birds of every color surrounding her, tweeting, laughing with her, it seemed.

“I do have a blog,” I said feebly.

“Then that will have to do.”

She picked up the bubble like creature and hurled it at me. Again, I caught it by my heart, took a deep conscious breath, closed my eyes, and I was home.

Many blessings, humans, from Caylee.

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