Thelonius the monk was an improvisation.
The mystery of life composed, recited, played and sung him extemporaneously for all of his village, which was the whole world to him, to see.
On the night of his birthday, he dreamed a dream.
In that dream, he was laying on a woven mat made of millet stalks.
He was looking up into a moonless, starless night.
He was listening to the sounds of drummers drumming in distant fields around him.
Suddenly, clouds began to gather and swirl above him.
One cloud came to earth and touched the ground beside him.
He lay there without moving, without making a sound.
He watched the cloud.
He wondered, “Why has this cloud come to me?”
The drummers ran to the cloud.
“Don’t touch it!” they yelled.
“Aagh!
It’s going to land on Thelonius!”
Land on Thelonius it did.
It touched the top of his head.
It brushed his forehead.
It kissed him with a light, tender kiss.
He was terrified and comforted at the same time.
He looked up into the swirling cloud.
He saw an old wooden loft there.
The loft glowed with soft, yellow light and reminded him of the first moments of sunrise and the last moments of sunset.
That soft, yellow light came from stacks and stacks of freshly picked corn.
Summer green husks were pulled all the way down to reveal whole, full kernels of corn.
A ladder unfolded with a clickity, clackity, clunk to the foot of his mat.
He wanted to climb the ladder, but he didn’t want to climb the ladder.
All he could do was look through the swirling cloud up the ladder into the loft at the corn and feel a mixture of beauty, genius, wonder and courage.
An old woman with hair as white as baobab fruit and eyes as brown as a peanut’s skin descended the ladder and sat down at Thelonius’ left side.
She leaned over him and placed her hand on his head, a hand that looked as worn and broken as a rubber sandal that had walked over unendingly, raggedy, rocky roads.
She whispered in his ear with a voice quiet and kind.
“Thelonius, here is a gift.
Be the gift.
Give the gift.”
She stood to climb back up the ladder.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Where are you going?
Where did you come from?
What gift did you give me?
Why would you give it to me?”
She ascended the ladder and disappeared into the corn.
The ladder folded with a clickity, clackity, clunk to the top of the loft.
A strong wind blew against Thelonius’ face.
It blew so hard he closed his eyes tightly to keep the dust from blinding him.
When he opened his eyes he saw his own room in his own hut in his own village.
The cloud, the loft, the corn, the ladder and the woman were gone.
A kernel of corn and a piece of husk lay on the floor beside him.
No comments:
Post a Comment