devoured the contents of the rucksack, it inevitably first drank the Cognac and swallowed the drugs.
The bearâs actions would quickly slow and it would then fall into a deep sleep, leaving you free to make your way well out of the bearâs olfactory range and to safety.
They applauded this heartily and took it as an appropriate time to open the cask of Cognac and to pass it around, drinking from the bunghole and using their fore arms to cradle the cask.
They made their own rough humour about Cognac and the hug of the bear.
The sixth question was: You come finally to a high stone wall and you hear a sound on the other side. What is it you do and what is the sound?
I said the sound that I hear is the cry of the coyote. I climb to the top of the wall to scout out the sound and to find my bearings.
There was interested muttering among them, and I noticed that they had slipped back into their local argot to discuss my answer to this question. One crossed himself. I sensed, though, that I had risen in their estimation but why I did not yet know.
The elder said that my answers to the forest catechism were a description of my true and intrinsic self. Thequestions describe the journey of life. My answer to the first question revealed how I saw my life. I lived my life in the here-and-now. However, I had pictured a large wild forest where there was, in fact, now only a small forest, that is, I enhanced my world with my imagination, preferring the older, wilder nature to the civilised world. He suspected I belonged to another time.
He said that I saw my comrades as comrades of the trail, their place to be taken, perhaps, by other comrades on other trails as I went on my journey.
âMy journey from bar to bar,â I quipped.
He said I must realise that I had also to dwell there in that wilder forest which I had created. That while using my imagination to free myself from the limitations of reality, I was, in turn, claimed by my invented world.
It was a sobering thought. But not too sobering.
On the matter of the path which forked in three ways, he said that this revealed the civic temperament and social volition of the traveller. The path straight ahead which I had chosen was the path least travelled, it was the path of the one who laughed with life.
I said that in my country it was sometimes called âsitting on the fenceâ.
The mountain folk guffawed at my colourful and poetic expression. âOur expression is ménager la chèvre et le chou âto live between the goat and the cabbage,â one said.
The elder gestured with impatience at our levity and we stopped. âTrue, there is a way of avoidingpolitical passion which is cowardice,â he said. âBut there is another way which combines both bravery and compassion for the human condition.â Surprisingly, he mentioned the Red Cross. But I recalled that the Red Cross had originated in this region and almost certainly he and his comrades would have shares in it.
He went on to say that the question of the thorns showed how I dealt with the petty hindrances of life.
He saw in my âdancing on the thornsâ answer a happy relationship to irritation and to pain. A willingness to incorporate the pain of living into a joke and a proverb. But, he said, I must take care that I was not taking the path of self-punishment.
In a way I am glad that he didnât go further with the whole question of pain, given the Companions of the Night with whom I sometimes carouse. They tend to be those who see some punishment, self or otherwise, as a source of fun.
The question of the fallen log revealed how I handled the profound obstacles of life. He said that in my answer he saw that I exercised caution but again that I joked away the profundity of my problems. He said that it could be said that I laughed in the face of life.
I could not tell if he approved of this laughing in the face of life.
I thought not.
âYou must be able to
The bearâs actions would quickly slow and it would then fall into a deep sleep, leaving you free to make your way well out of the bearâs olfactory range and to safety.
They applauded this heartily and took it as an appropriate time to open the cask of Cognac and to pass it around, drinking from the bunghole and using their fore arms to cradle the cask.
They made their own rough humour about Cognac and the hug of the bear.
The sixth question was: You come finally to a high stone wall and you hear a sound on the other side. What is it you do and what is the sound?
I said the sound that I hear is the cry of the coyote. I climb to the top of the wall to scout out the sound and to find my bearings.
There was interested muttering among them, and I noticed that they had slipped back into their local argot to discuss my answer to this question. One crossed himself. I sensed, though, that I had risen in their estimation but why I did not yet know.
The elder said that my answers to the forest catechism were a description of my true and intrinsic self. Thequestions describe the journey of life. My answer to the first question revealed how I saw my life. I lived my life in the here-and-now. However, I had pictured a large wild forest where there was, in fact, now only a small forest, that is, I enhanced my world with my imagination, preferring the older, wilder nature to the civilised world. He suspected I belonged to another time.
He said that I saw my comrades as comrades of the trail, their place to be taken, perhaps, by other comrades on other trails as I went on my journey.
âMy journey from bar to bar,â I quipped.
He said I must realise that I had also to dwell there in that wilder forest which I had created. That while using my imagination to free myself from the limitations of reality, I was, in turn, claimed by my invented world.
It was a sobering thought. But not too sobering.
On the matter of the path which forked in three ways, he said that this revealed the civic temperament and social volition of the traveller. The path straight ahead which I had chosen was the path least travelled, it was the path of the one who laughed with life.
I said that in my country it was sometimes called âsitting on the fenceâ.
The mountain folk guffawed at my colourful and poetic expression. âOur expression is ménager la chèvre et le chou âto live between the goat and the cabbage,â one said.
The elder gestured with impatience at our levity and we stopped. âTrue, there is a way of avoidingpolitical passion which is cowardice,â he said. âBut there is another way which combines both bravery and compassion for the human condition.â Surprisingly, he mentioned the Red Cross. But I recalled that the Red Cross had originated in this region and almost certainly he and his comrades would have shares in it.
He went on to say that the question of the thorns showed how I dealt with the petty hindrances of life.
He saw in my âdancing on the thornsâ answer a happy relationship to irritation and to pain. A willingness to incorporate the pain of living into a joke and a proverb. But, he said, I must take care that I was not taking the path of self-punishment.
In a way I am glad that he didnât go further with the whole question of pain, given the Companions of the Night with whom I sometimes carouse. They tend to be those who see some punishment, self or otherwise, as a source of fun.
The question of the fallen log revealed how I handled the profound obstacles of life. He said that in my answer he saw that I exercised caution but again that I joked away the profundity of my problems. He said that it could be said that I laughed in the face of life.
I could not tell if he approved of this laughing in the face of life.
I thought not.
âYou must be able to
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