The Calm of Knowing

I caught up with Tinda on a pathway that winds through a forest. She was just about to climb a steep hill, when I called out to her, Hey Tinda! Tinda slowly turned, looked me in the eye for a brief and bristly moment, nodded, and then returned her gaze in the hills direction while simultaneously lifting her right foot, in preparation for the climb. 

With trepidation, I mustered enough courage to follow Tinda up that hill. I could have gone by another path, making my life easier; interactions with Tinda felt like sand paper rubbing against my soul, and I had to ask myself, Are you interested in feeling a little raw and vulnerable today? 'cuz that's how it's going to be after talking to Tinda. In my brief moment of decision making, Tinda was already cresting that hill, and I had to scramble to catch-up with her again. 

Slightly out of breath, and a few short steps behind her, I tentatively spoke her name, Tinda? Without slowing or giving me any indication that my presence mattered to her in the least, Tinda replied, Yes?

I was wondering if you could answer some questions? Tinda continued her fast pace walking, and I felt like a puppy being pulled by an invisible leash, tripping over my own feet and some unruly tree roots, as I tried to keep up. Tinda responded, without hesitation, Sure, go ahead and ask. 

My mind went a whirring. Where do I begin? How do I ask; and do I give Tinda some background information, or will that be too much, and have her distancing herself from me further? I decide context is valuable, and that it will help me if I share briefly with Tinda, the reasons for my questions. 

Each time I consider my approach in conversation with Tinda, I am slowed down, and I notice she quick-like-bunny, moves so speedily ahead, that I have to work really hard to get near her again. Man alive she is flash lightning swift! Determined to be in her company, I too speed walk my way through the woods, looking down to prevent tripping over roots and rocks. To my surprise, I almost slam right into the back of Tinda; I stop just short of knocking into her. Tinda is standing stock still, looking toward the river. Her expression is serene, and out of curiosity, I too, look in the direction of the bubbling over rocks, fast paced running water. For the first time today, I hear the river: the river runs along the entirety of these woods, and all I have heard is my own inner nattering, my own voice muttering to itself. 

I stand next to Tinda attuning myself to our surroundings. We need not speak, in fact to do so would be ungainly and almost violent, considering the tranquility of the moment. I am transported to a peaceful place in my mind, and my soul is soothed with the sound, of not only the babbling brook, but the chirping and calling of the birds, and the chippering of squirrels with their swishing tails. Tinda and I remain this way, silent for countless minutes, content to soak up the scenery until ... 

My peripheral vision catches movement; Tinda has lifted her right arm, and now I feel it resting across my shoulders. I am surprised by this sudden show of affection. With some embarrassment, I burst into tears. Tinda is quiet as I sob, and when the weeping stops, I feel a calm that I haven't felt for quite some time. A timid breeze tussles the tree top autumn leaves, rustling them, shaking them gently from their branchy homes. They flutter and fall all around us, tree hairs, as it were, aged and coloured to bright yellow, orange, and red. 

What did you come here for? Tinda asks. I am slightly startled by the breaking of silence, but soothed at the same time by her tender tones. I have questions, I respond. What are they?, she asks. I don't recall, I reply. Keeping her arm in place, Tinda pulls me next to her so that we are side-to-side touching. Fresh tears take the very same path as before, flowing in cascading streams; the sadness soaks my face, along with the front of my shirt and shoes. Tinda removes her arm from about my shoulders, and seamlessly places her hands on my upper arms as she turns me toward her; we are now standing facing one another.  

My tears stop, of their own accord, or had someone turned my water tap to the off position? Breath escapes my lungs and lips in a long exhale. I had been stopping my breath, and now felt the relief of released tension. With Tinda attending me, and her eyes searching mine, I addressed her without fear or worry. Somewhere along this path, trepidation had evaporated, opening up my heart and mind to a face-to-face exchange, and so I began. Tinda, I wanted to know for sure that I could find you. I wanted to reassure myself that you exist, that you have answers, that no matter what, you will be steadfast and trustworthy and never changing. I wanted ... You wanted? Tinda asks. I wanted the calm of knowing, I guess.

Do you have it now, the calm of knowing?

I consider the question and cannot immediately answer. 

The calm of knowing ... Do you have it now? this question echos in my brain, getting softer and more quiet with every repetition. 

Tinda releases me from the gentle pressure of her hands on my arms, and tells me, It is time. 

The trees are casting their long shadows, and the sun is lying low in the sky. Mosquitoes buzz, threatening to snack on our human blood; Tinda is right, It is time, to leave the woods, the river, the path that threatens tree root and rock tripping, when trodden in the dark. My questions had moved from my lips to a back shelve in some corridor in my mind, to be sought, retrieved, and ask, or not, at a later date. 

Tinda walks ahead of me, in no big rush; no hurry was detected. The path is too narrow for us to walk it side-by-side, and I am content for her to lead the way. The river walk is where I must go, I realize, to meet myself, for the soothing of my soul, during the grieving and until it passes.

 ... once more, I must go to the river, and pray.