Ľuboš and Melatín Brook

Legend: PRACTICAL; experiential; presentational (the whole text); propositional

THROUGHOUT THE INQUIRY I’M TRYING TO ALWAYS CHANGE THE PRACTICE OF ENCOUNTERING MY FLOWING COMPANION. UNTIL NOW, HOWEVER, THE CHANGE WAS NOT GUIDED BY THE PREVIOUS ROUND OF THE INQUIRY, BUT RATHER BY A GENERAL ATTEMPT TO PROGRESSIVELY GET TO KNOW THE BROOK AND LET IT KNOW ME. PERHAPS IT WAS INSPIRED BY A FEELING I HAVE HAD FROM THE BEGINNING: THAT THE RELATIONSHIP MUST DEVELOP, THAT I CANNOT RUSH; AND ALSO THAT SUCH A SERPENTINE LIQUID BEING STRETCHING SEVERAL KILOMETRES CANNOT BE WELL KNOWN IN A DAY.

This time, I EXTENDED MY WALK BESIDES THE BROOK, getting to the furthermost point that I have visited in the past. At this point I would usually turn and climb the hill on one side of the ravine to return home via a different route. Not this time. DURING THESE INQUIRING VISITS TO THE BROOK I ALWAYS WALK BACK THE SAME WAY, TO SPEND SOME MORE TIME WITH MY WATER COMPANION.

This time, the walk is different. I feel compelled by the soft effortless flow of the brook to soften my steps as well. We human beings can be very noisy even when spending time in the silent home places of other beings. (Here, I use the term ‘silence’ in Gordon Hempton’s meaning – not an absence of sound, but an absence of noise; not absence, but presence.) A few cyclists rush past me in their fancy bright sporting costumes, like some exotic parrots. (It seems to me that the separation of culture from nature, even though misguided conceptually, is repeatedly performed, embodied and thus reinforced in a myriad of such everyday acts.)

I notice the subtle yet important change in the overall look and feel of the ravine. Only one week was enough for it to turn from a freeze-dried place the colour of straw to a visibly lusher place with new grass, wood and yellow anemones, common toothworts, golden-saxifrages and patches of young nettle. The tall woody figures of willows and alders are also taking on fresh dresses, trying to attract as many of their buzzing companions as possible before the late sleepers around them realize it’s already springtime. The suspenseful atmosphere of the colder previous weeks slowly turns into a joyful burst of the lust for life. Even the air is much more humid and heavy clouds hang overhead as if finally heeding the call of the seriously dried land.

I walk past a small clearing – some wide, old trees were cut down here since the autumn. A sad sight, but my rational part appreciates the small size of the clearing, so much different from usual production forest (the forests around my village are being owned and managed by a university instead of the state forest company for nearly a century). But I also notice that far fewer plants grow at the clearing, confirming the important role of trees in the local water management. FINALLY, I ARRIVE AT THE PATH CROSSING AND SIT BESIDE THE BROOK. I SALUTE IT AND TRY TO ‘MEDITATE’, FOCUSING ON ITS VOICE, TO FOLLOW UP WITH THE LAST WEEK’S CAPTIVATION. WITH MY EYES CLOSED I’m at times puzzled whether it’s the brook that speaks or if the rain has already started murmuring.

EVENTUALLY, I GET CLOSER TO THE WATER AND AFTER ASKING FOR A PERMISSION, I START EXPLORING THE TACTILE QUALITIES OF MY BURBLING BUDDY. I remember David Abram’s exercise about the reciprocity of touch, TRYING TO LET MY HAND BE TOUCHED BY THE WATER. VERY GENTLY AT FIRST. TRYING TO TOUCH JUST THE DELICATE SURFACE, I always find the water instantly caressing my fingers. My hand wanders to a little ‘waterfall’ where the water drops down from a rock and suddenly the water encompasses the whole of my fingers. A feeling of permeability of both the brook and my hand with its long discrete fingers. A feeling of acceptance, but in a bodily sense. Then the stronger flow takes my hand a little further and in an instant the feeling shifts into that of a strong embrace, the water now pouring over my palm. Oh, it is so strong! And yet soft at the same time! Like a firm hug of a friend. Hey, maybe this is the next step in our relationship with the brook! The hug feels like the very character of the flowing body: always trickling through and forth, eluding any grasp, yet ever present.

Finally, I feel comfortable enough with the increasing tactile intimacy that I SUBMERGE THE WHOLE HAND INTO A CALMER PART OF THE BROOK. The ease of entering into the body of this other being bewilders me and I’m at once so palpably aware of the firmness and density of my body that allows for this permeation. A water strider’s experience must be so vastly different, being able to walk on and feel the elastic membrane of the surface. Again, the knowledge of difference between me and the brook spreads from the hand experiencing the interpenetration of the solid and the fluid all the way to the rational intellect: some beings can feel even me as permeable. Is the experience of a mosquito dipping its proboscis into the delicate network of my blood streams somewhat similar to what my hand is experiencing right now (except for the difference in temperature)? It’s all relative. We often hear and talk about interconnection and interrelation of beings. And what about interpermeability? We are very much used to think of ourselves, and indeed often of other beings too, have they animal, plant, fungi or whatever form, as a self-contained entities, separated from the surroundings by our skin (or an analogous part of the body). Even when aware of all the interchanges of matter through the most apparent ways, such as when eating, relieving ourselves or breathing, we still tend to think of our bodies as relatively closed-up systems with just a few neatly defined input and output pathways. But the truth is that we are much more permeable than we think. Both our bodies and our minds, of course. There’s a curious thought: could my mind immerse into the mind of the brook just as my hand does into its body? What a sensation might that be? But how would I know, anyway? Wait, the brook might have done just that a while ago, seeping into me while walking and compelling me to slow down and soften my steps! I’m still so preoccupied with my own agency and practice in this inquiry that I might miss what my meandering friend is doing on its own. (The term ‘friend’ now seems a little bit more appropriate.)

AS I SAY GOODBYE TO THE BROOK AND SET TO HEAD HOME, I notice that the twilight has already risen up from the shadows and covered the ravine, again shifting the view and feel of the place. My awareness is slowly giving up on its automatic tendency of distinguishing ‘objects’, which is way too easy in daylight, and dissolves into the surroundings. Erazim Kohák made me observant to this quality of twilight, that lets the particularities blend into a sort of unity. In the first chapter of The Embers and the Stars he talks about night making the diversity, so insistent in daylight, ‘wane into meaninglessness before the overwhelming boundlessness of One.’ But he also notes that philosophy is neither the child of day nor night, but of the ephemeral time in-between, when ‘dying daylight suppresses the insistence of particularities but everything did not yet blend into one with the dark of night.’ Isn’t this akin to what water does? Feathering the ink on a paper, blurring the view through a window, washing down soil from the nicely shaped patch in our garden, and permeating all beings by effortlessly flowing through their bodies. As the growing darkness makes all shapes interpermeated and unveils the unity of Being, water reminds us of the permeability of our bodies and unveils the unity of Gaia.

Finally, entering the dimly-lit village, I ponder what my next visit to Melatín will look like. I MIGHT TRY TO LET THE BROOK INSIDE ME BY LEADING MY BODY’S MOVEMENT EVEN MORE. MAYBE I’LL TRY DANCING. OR LETTING IT GUIDE MY HAND TO SKETCH ITS MOVEMENT ON A PAPER. THAT MIGHT BE CHALLENGING, BUT THAT’S PROBABLY TO BE EXPECTED AND EMBRACED IN SUCH AN INQUIRY. AND I SHOULD ALSO TRY SUBMERGING MY MIND INTO THAT OF THE BROOK, THOUGH I HAVE NO IDEA YET HOW TO APPROACH THAT. BUT MAYBE MY TRICKLING FRIEND WILL HELP ME IF I JUST LET IT.

Note and legend:

In this text, I tried to play with distinguishing and weaving together all four types of knowing of the cooperative inquiry cycle (although only indirectly – technically all the text is presentational knowing):

•       practical

•       experiential

•       presentational (the whole text)

•       propositional

Comments and tips for improvement in my practice and reflection would be appreciated. ;-)