So far in 2020, most of us have had our lives scrunched down. So many familiar and necessary things were snatched from us, such as our jobs, our family security, sports events, bars and parties and Sunday Church. Our world was bashed down to COVID 19 statistics, glove barriers, speech muffled behind masks and another “two weeks” until we could have our lives back. Many thousands of people have died from the illness, causing grief and sadness to their friends and families. That’s the ocean swell heaving beneath the froth of daily media prattling.
In Thailand a few years ago, I had an experience the memory of which has helped me keep some perspective on the whole virus episode. I met an elephant. At the time, we were both waiting, about four feet from each other. He was on the other side of a low fence and was waiting for his next load of passengers. I was in the line of people waiting to leave the park. I had one of those moments when we look up or turn around for no apparent reason and find that someone is looking at us. I looked up and slightly to my right and met the eyes of a towering old elephant. Our eyes locked. For a few moments we connected as spirits, our worlds touched.
His eyes transmitted immense, balanced awareness. He “personified” the universe. Centered in his elephant space, impervious to any disturbance, he looked down at this small two-legged creature with kindness and gentle interest. He’d known my kind for eons. He’d known the world long before my kind came along. His memory was older than any hills, the memory he shared with all his fellow elephants. He knew everything there was to know about humans and he didn’t mind sharing the planet with us for however long we stayed around. He liked the young Thai elephant handlers and trainers, liked having his easy job. It was a dance, a slow dance or a game to him. (And indeed, I had seen that the handlers were skilled and gentle and each had a clear rapport with his elephant.)
Connected to his ancient eyes, I felt fragile and transient. The sudden fear was not of him, as he would look after me should any situation come up that called for his care. It was fear of the vastness he lived with – immensity of time and knowledge.
What small eyes he had in such a large, tough and durable body. What enormous knowledge those eyes held in their yellow depth. They showed the real reason why elephants move slowly. We humans dart around like moths or ants because our awareness is small; it doesn’t encompass the ice ages and the drying of ancient oceans and the dinosaurs and the crash of the prehistoric Flood. Noah’s flood is featured in every culture’s myths and “my” elephant knows it because his shared elephant memory remembers it.
His wise tolerant gaze will always be with me.