The Solitude of the color green

December 18, 2013

I do not believe anyone back home will ever understand the depths of solitude that I experience as a farmer. I don’t even believe it serves any purpose to enquire further, other than perhaps draw the very specialized interest of someone who studies the clinical and psychological effects on people who are marooned due to shipwreck or cut off from the world for prolonged periods.

There are somedays that go by when all that reminds me the entire human race has not suddenly turned into zombies killed each other and become an extinct species and I am not a chinese version in Will Smith’s movie – Iam Legend – is when I suddenly turn my head upwards….. and the singularity of a silken streak of a jetliner splitting the sky in half high above jolts me out from the idea….I am the last man on this planet.

God some jetliners fly so high. You don’t even hear the whine of the engines, unless one really cups the ear to make it hear like a bat – that is the only thing that reminds me there is another world beyond this world….my world…..and that other world that is faraway from this green that seems to be alive taking on so many unexpected shades and forms – a green tree snake curled around a low hanging branch indolently. It looks just like glazed porcelain.

For a moment the man is transfixed by this sight…..of a distant airplane high above. He peers at it long and hard like a shaman studying the entrails of the mythical albino monitor lizard – as to this man who is marooned in an ocean of green this is how he marks the chastening passage of time.

The endless litany where the sowing, tending and harvesting goes right on like a road with no end that seems to stretch right on into the darkened mysteries of the infinity.

Imagine a world where green is not just a color of a bra you choose to go with your see thru blouse…imagine yourself immersive in an ocean of green. Marinating in it. Sensing its coolness. Feeling the weight of its resistance against your skin. Savoring it in the way a man runs his callous hands on the back of a woman.

To be so close to this color that it even becomes you and seeps into the marrow of one’s bones. To even nurse the suspicion, your veins are not filled with blood, but chlorophyl – You feel this heavy opium laced vapor in every breathe, in the way a dog suddenly pricks up it ears and sniffs the air….you run in the pale moonlight naked with just three arrows and bow – running….feeling the ground momentarily melt away as you’re soaring like a bird….chasing the wild board with the rest of the braves under the wan of the pale moonlit.

You run like a whispering hush through a field of tall grass. You feel the little slices of death as the reeds cut you like broken glass – but you don’t feel the pain… only have the boar in your mind. Running as fast as your legs can take you. So close that you can even smell the fear in the prey. Your heart beating furiously, pounding against your chest till you gasp for every breathe like sprinter on his last quarter.

Suddenly the beast stops turns around slowly. You suddenly realize it looks about three times larger from the front than the backend – the beast billows out smoke in the chilled night air like Vespa. kicks it’s hoofs, narrows its tusk and dips it’s sledge hammer head preparing to charge. You want to run, shout out….but suddenly another side of you takes over.

A side that no man ever talks about – all that he can do to seek some form of redemption by surrendering to this primal impulse. The man draws out his commando dagger wraps it knuckle white tight around his fist with rubber strips. He crouches to prepare himself to trip up the charging beast.

He plans to grab it’s hind legs and wrestle it down to the ground, turn it on it’s back, hold it still momentary and thrust the dagger deep to find the beast heart and hope and pray somewhere in the perpetuity of the dead roll – the beast will still and all that fills the nigh air is the reassuring elevator music equivalent of the jungle – the perpetual hum that goes through the night in the flourescent green jungle…under the pale moonlight.

A green ocean of green of so many indescribable hues of greens – emeralds to the turquoise green of jade – the color green permeates everything in this man’s world.

Imagine a universe of green that can enthrall, rapture, seduce a man to look at mother nature with childlike eyes – to lose oneself layer by layer and go deeper….deeper…..yet even deeper into this churning ocean of green. To flail helplessly at times when a color even begins to drive a man to the edge of madness and by some stroke of luck to spit him out to sanity again.

Yes to be surrounded day by day by just one color…green…can be terrifying at times.

(I must go to the field now. The winds are starting to pick up. I think the seasons is changing. I need to climb a mountain stand on a rock promontory and peer deeply when the seasons change. To see it all happen before your eyes – the before, when the trees would be so very still. Even the birds are silent. Nothing in the jungle moves – not even so much as a blade of grass. The gentle fall of a petal.

The During. When suddenly the winds begin to pick up from a different direction. You recognize this new wind like an old friend in the way planters have always done so. A lone man leaning against one of his wooden fences. His got one feet perched up and he’s just lighted his pipe. The sky is a dark paraffin blue just before evening is swallowed by the creeping velvety night.

Meanwhile the man continues to look on as one season bows out to another. Cont)

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