Selected Cronicas

REFUGE

I have a lovely picture in my mind, which I can conjure up at will, and it invariably comes back to me in its entirety. It is the image of a forest, and in that forest I can see a green clearing, enveloped in semi-darkness and surrounded by tall trees. And in the midst of this pleasing darkness there are many butterflies, and a tawny lion is reclining, while I sit embroidering on the ground nearby. The hours pass like countless years, and the years pass in reality; the large butterflies have decorative wings and the tawny lion is speckled but the speckles are only there to show that he is tawny, and from the speckles one can see what the lion would look like if he were not tawny. The nice thing about this image is the penumbra, which demands nothing beyond my powers of vision. And there I sit with butterfly and lion. My clearing has a wealth of minerals: these consist of colours. There is only one danger: the dread knowledge that outside the clearing I am lost. For it will no longer be the forest (something love has already taught me) but only an empty field (which fear has taught me): so empty that I might just as easily go in one direction as in the other, a wilderness so devoid of cover and concealment that I should never be able to find an animal there to call my own. I put my fears aside, take a deep breath to regain my composure and settle down to enjoy my intimacy with the lion and the butterflies; we do not think, we simply enjoy ourselves. In this image-cum-refuge I am not black and white. Even without being able to see myself, I know that to these creatures I am coloured; without exceeding their powers of vision for that would unsettle them and we are in no sense unsettling. I am speckled with blue and green simply to show that I am neither blue nor green. Just look at what I am not! The penumbra is dark green and moist. I know that I have mentioned this already, but I am repeating it out of happiness: I want to repeat it over and over again. Until we actually feel that we are there. And really enjoying ourselves. Truly, I have never been so contented. Why? What does it matter? Each of us is in the right place, and I am perfectly happy with mine. I cannot resist repeating myself for things are getting better all the time: the tame lion, and the butterflies flitting quietly as I sit on the ground embroidering. We are thoroughly enjoying our clearing in the forest. We are contented.