oomph.
After all the obsessions over his clothes, his stance, his
grip, the clubhead, his face and hair also, at no other time before
now did the old man appear ready to do what was required , a nd what was asked was that he
strike a little white
ball and end this sordid drama.
The old man gazed at the Valley of Flowers
while Nicolas held back another smile. In place of actually beaming, he again sought
the grass for some serious mental help.
Arjuna shifted. He wiggled his hips to
settle in better or perhaps add more comedy to this outdoor
amphitheater. He then took the driver back .
The club returned to its
starting point looking rather reluctant. It came back to its
apparent rightful position, stuck behind a little white ball.
His focus was again on this round ruler. The old man saw the little ball as his equal
counterpart in this epic drama by Homer. Arjuna seemed so fixed he appeared
catatonic. This was followed by a glance down the flower fairway, as if one contestant had blinked in
a stare fight.
He fretted being thought of as soft on rotund little
criminals. Arjuna feared being pelted by small stones also, if he
did not take the shot soon. He gazed back at the ground as the two
sides of his brain quarreled. They seemed unable to agree on what
to do next.
An abbreviated club waggle brought the old
man's focus back onto the club. The club head held up behind the ball and above the
somewhat moist ground. The
ball looked to be
performing the sideshow trick known as yogic levitation.
Except for scattered here and there chatter,
blown in on a breeze, the many-flowered valley was an area of
perfect silence. The old man's mind too arrived at a place of peace. Stillness overcame
him. Quiet too came to
Arjuna's vast army of followers with the countless crossed
fingers.
All seemed well and about to get going when
Arjuna's one remaining grouse was the actual hitting of the
ball .
He next thought to study his old film clips
from his former playing days .
He soon gave that up ,
though . He came
in as from out of the cold to the surprise of at least one,
himself. More surprise was in store for him when Arjuna noticed the club was inching
back.
At first he could not believe what his eyes
were telling him. But
t hen he saw the driver was indeed extending rearward. It
moved along a straight line and in earnest this time.
The club traveled low. Its silver coating
made it seem like a snow leopard stalking. The sleek beast crept
across the moist grass slowly. The club left a visible trail where dew had been. It
lifted up sharply. His hips turned then from the tension caused by his also-turning
shoulders.
The club arrived at a spot short of the usual preparatory high
point in any swing’s life, which was more or less at parallel. He looked determined to
haul off and belt it.
In the next instant, the now-young Arjuna
threw life off to death and let life be born to it yet again and
the ball was away, itself a born and created thing. The one flying,
rising majestic and beautiful took its rightful spot among the gods
in heaven. It seemed content in that high place.
Arjuna had finished on a high as well. He had finished with his trademark flying-high
elbows. To those looking on anxiously, the club pointing up might
have seemed like a spiraling up staircase.
Arjuna looked to be pointing a direct path
to the high holy gates. To others, his finish may have looked as if
someone were holding up a sword, beckoning all comers to try and
test him. It only ended for him with the sudden realization that this psychic trauma
was over.
He stayed in his follow through position.
The young-again Arjuna remain posed or beautifully suspended. He
wanted to make sure a lesson had indeed been learned. He felt the
youth could benefit from t his awesome display of power.
Then the moment came when all had time
enough to study his swing and take good note.
Arjuna brought the club
After all the obsessions over his clothes, his stance, his
grip, the clubhead, his face and hair also, at no other time before
now did the old man appear ready to do what was required , a nd what was asked was that he
strike a little white
ball and end this sordid drama.
The old man gazed at the Valley of Flowers
while Nicolas held back another smile. In place of actually beaming, he again sought
the grass for some serious mental help.
Arjuna shifted. He wiggled his hips to
settle in better or perhaps add more comedy to this outdoor
amphitheater. He then took the driver back .
The club returned to its
starting point looking rather reluctant. It came back to its
apparent rightful position, stuck behind a little white ball.
His focus was again on this round ruler. The old man saw the little ball as his equal
counterpart in this epic drama by Homer. Arjuna seemed so fixed he appeared
catatonic. This was followed by a glance down the flower fairway, as if one contestant had blinked in
a stare fight.
He fretted being thought of as soft on rotund little
criminals. Arjuna feared being pelted by small stones also, if he
did not take the shot soon. He gazed back at the ground as the two
sides of his brain quarreled. They seemed unable to agree on what
to do next.
An abbreviated club waggle brought the old
man's focus back onto the club. The club head held up behind the ball and above the
somewhat moist ground. The
ball looked to be
performing the sideshow trick known as yogic levitation.
Except for scattered here and there chatter,
blown in on a breeze, the many-flowered valley was an area of
perfect silence. The old man's mind too arrived at a place of peace. Stillness overcame
him. Quiet too came to
Arjuna's vast army of followers with the countless crossed
fingers.
All seemed well and about to get going when
Arjuna's one remaining grouse was the actual hitting of the
ball .
He next thought to study his old film clips
from his former playing days .
He soon gave that up ,
though . He came
in as from out of the cold to the surprise of at least one,
himself. More surprise was in store for him when Arjuna noticed the club was inching
back.
At first he could not believe what his eyes
were telling him. But
t hen he saw the driver was indeed extending rearward. It
moved along a straight line and in earnest this time.
The club traveled low. Its silver coating
made it seem like a snow leopard stalking. The sleek beast crept
across the moist grass slowly. The club left a visible trail where dew had been. It
lifted up sharply. His hips turned then from the tension caused by his also-turning
shoulders.
The club arrived at a spot short of the usual preparatory high
point in any swing’s life, which was more or less at parallel. He looked determined to
haul off and belt it.
In the next instant, the now-young Arjuna
threw life off to death and let life be born to it yet again and
the ball was away, itself a born and created thing. The one flying,
rising majestic and beautiful took its rightful spot among the gods
in heaven. It seemed content in that high place.
Arjuna had finished on a high as well. He had finished with his trademark flying-high
elbows. To those looking on anxiously, the club pointing up might
have seemed like a spiraling up staircase.
Arjuna looked to be pointing a direct path
to the high holy gates. To others, his finish may have looked as if
someone were holding up a sword, beckoning all comers to try and
test him. It only ended for him with the sudden realization that this psychic trauma
was over.
He stayed in his follow through position.
The young-again Arjuna remain posed or beautifully suspended. He
wanted to make sure a lesson had indeed been learned. He felt the
youth could benefit from t his awesome display of power.
Then the moment came when all had time
enough to study his swing and take good note.
Arjuna brought the club
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