The Emotional Being

first draft 1976

by The Fool on the Hill

(Works best if read aloud)

Who is this emotional being we are all part of? Who is it?

Ebony the cat knows. He's already enlightened. The only thing he wonders is, 'What's taking humankind so long?' It's obvious to Ebony that we're in heaven! It's obvious to cats that everything is perfect. "Why are humans running around giving themselves heartburn?" Ebony asks. "They should be out with ME, having fun! Look what the wind's doing to the meadow! Look what the wind’s doing to my furrrrrrr!" Ebony’s ears spring out in all directions, his eyes, his whiskers, tail, all of him dances! He's exploding in millions of directions just sitting there.

We old human beings, we're not in tune with the emotional being. What do we do? Oh, we sit around with our thumbs in our ears, plugged into the TV, thunking great thinks. Meanwhile the whole life of the planet goes on around us, in the bushes, underground, in the ocean, all in its quiet heroic way. And what are we doing? We're closed up in our houses feeling BAD, scratching ourselves, shuddering about the past, shivering about the future, while this whole reality just foams right by us on the wave of the NOW.

We don't know anything about it, no, we're not tuned in. It's idiotic, and then it gets worse. People start KILLING each other, HATING each other, destroying each other, losing everything. Why? They should be sitting on the tops of trees LAUGHING! We all should be going "AH-HA-HA-HA! Look at that!" -- just losing control over the insane beauty of everything! We're here to have Mother Nature AMAZE us, and she saying, "Oh, look over here!" And crash-thud-crash, a tree misses your house by inches, or – HA-HA! – lightning, thunder, hailstorms, adventures, animals running around chasing each other.

It's supposed to be Looney Tunes Cartoons on this planet! People should be having a good time instead of this stuff about war, death, destruction and all that. . . .

Sure is a beautiful day out here… clouds stampeding like white buffalos, and the sun is… unh… whew! I don't know if I can go on… The wind's coming up and the sun's coming out and it's just – ha-ha-ha-ha-ha – just like the Beatles’ ‘Fool on the Hill!’ I just can't stand it, it's UNBELIEVABLE out here. I'm crying and it's killing me just to be outside. I'm melting into a large puddle… just a perfect March day!

Look at that meadow, just waiting for us to tune in. And the wind has a voice. It will talk to you, if you listen…

"Hello, wind!" I shout. "Hi, wind! Nice knowing you! I know you've been my friend for a long time."

"Swooosh!" says the wind, using a convenient redwood for vocal cords. For the exclamation point it bounces a bluejay off its perch.

"Ha-ha! How are you?" I yell.

"M-wahhh," the wind replies, noncommital, and waves the laundry on the line. "Howww ahhh yooooo?"

"Oh, you know me," I say. "My ears plug up, I stop listening and stomp around like everyone else and then... suddenly I... I hear you, wind, and I can talk to you."

"Hahhh yahna hahhh," the wind says, obviously something in our local Miwok native tongue. I make a note to check it out. Meanwhile, a strong flurry rattles the page under my pencil.

"Hi, wind! I love you!" I shout. No doubt the neighbors are dialing the mental health hot line, but I could care less. This is important!

"Eee-hoh," the wind says – that means 'son' in Spanish.

That really impresses me! How many languages does it know? A gust grabs me in a breathy hug and tousles my hair.

"Amigo," I replied, checking my theory.

"Ah-mee-goh," it echoes, using a combination of a redwood and an oak to form the word.

"Fraynnnnnnnd!" squawks the bounced bluejay from a fencepost, butting in with a translation.

So passionate, this wind! It mentions something and then insists, eager for my understanding.

Oof! That puff blew everything – page, shirt, collar. Anything flappable flapped, a nudge from a friendly air serpent. And the clouds! They approach in two rows, veils churning slowly. Just the right amount of clouds today. Gobs of whipped cream, spun-sugar tips of a swirl on an eddy of a current from the north, tag-ends of a rainstorm.

"All," the wind sings.

I realize it has been singing all along. Off it goes to rummage in the canyon. Whoosh! Back again, roaring in the treetops, building a crescendo before laughing away to nothing.

"Haw haw," a raven interpolates. Again - "HAWW haw," the inflection on the first syllable this time. Sarcastic maybe?

A vulture scoots overhead, red head waggling as he slaloms through the grove.

A duet for robin and wind begins on the other side of the garden.

"Hayyy, hehhh, hahhh, ow aw - dit-dit - ahhh, cheep! Ahhh, cheep! Hahhh - cheep! --- hahhh!"

I applaud when they finish, while the wind fishes for an encore with a tug at my pants leg.

An English professor once drilled into me some dire warnings about falling into 'Pathetic Fallacy,' the unforgivable error of imparting human characteristics to quote 'lower' species or inanimate objects. Only dancehall poets and future opium addicts indulged in such cheap thrills, he explained. It took me years to overcome his indoctrination, but I was helped along by the ancient teaching, 'as above, so below.' If we are a mini-model of the universe and we talk, so then does everything else, from rocks to photons!

I miss the wind's next word, but wait patiently while it squawks the chickens in a neighbor's back yard.

Suddenly it says 'we're' very distinctly before whipping down the hillside again. Or was it 'weird?' More than likely. Annoyed at my woefully short attention span. A breath of a breeze begins, the beginning of an inhale three times as long as my own.

Gone again!

"Hey, wind-wind!" I call. "Come back! I'll pay attention!"

Could it have become that peeved over one missed word? Must’ve been important. Distant branches stir in a sudden overflight, but it seems interested in something else, leapfrogging Douglas firs on the next ridge. Fickle creature. Independent. Friendly though, passionate and soothing in turn. Understanding too. A perfect companion for an afternoon.

"Awww," it says in the canyon. Must have mind-read the compliment!

All at once it comes booming back, pulling at everything. I listen carefully, holding down the paper with one hand, pencil at the ready.

"Sure...." it says from its favorite redwood.

"Wishhh..." from the wild lilac bush.

"Youuu..." it hoots through the chicken wire of the garden fence.

"Were..." whirrs a hummingbird, balancing on a sunbeam.

"Here..."

"Heyyy hehhh hahhh..."