the monk had an earthly deed and so i went with him. his companion. the neon lights of the hotel was inviting after the nine hour journey by road so we went to our soporify . this patch of earth was baptised Machigonne by the rightful Indians. much later it was rechristened Portland. we had to stay here for two days, much of which went by in the course of my monk doing his many mundane deeds.
i woke up the day of departure early and wished i had caught the sunrise on a beach . but the wants are seldom the occurences. so the monk and i left when the sun had fairly roused. i wanted to see the land and its people and my monk fulfilled my want.
we came upon a land so awe-inspiring that it was with diffidence a human being could concieve such a presence on earth, without a visual experience.
the small Victorian houses stood on their stead beckoning to be embraced as ones eternal dwelling place. the narrow winding which can hardly be called roads meandered through the sleepy wonderment of existence. the azure sky and the white candy clouds rendered the whole divine picture a bright hue. what with the loud calls of the sea-gulls, this coastal place had the air of a quaint bygone English countryside look. quietly moving along the streets , gratefully assited by the impeccable behaviour of our rented Subaru Outback, the monk and i kept driving towards our paradise, quite unknowingly.
the street would end as a decisive T junction. we parked our vehicle and no sooner would we cross the street, that we would stand at the brim of paradise. the edge of a Persian carpet like green meadow that would abruptly end to take the shape of the Atlantic Ocean. blue, eternal and sparkling under the autumn sun. so we took one of the narrow dirt trails along the meadow and walked slowly down where the meadow would end and a man made tarr jetty-like juttings, would start. this tarred patch had old rail jigs for trains some eras back. my mind conjured up the majesty of a train journey along the atlantic. we walked across the tarred patch and came at the edge of the Atlantic. yes just like we would come upon a small brook. as inconsequentially and as lovingly as possible. when we turned to look back at our point of descend, it was as beautiful a view as it was before we descended. The meadow was lined with white victorian houses.
i thought that man and nature can still live side by side, each respecting the other, unlike as in my country where we destroy our land, fell our trees and think of pubs and discotheques as the present day nirvana. i thought of our many wants and needs and sighed at our near sightedness and revelled at the peace and the quiet of the place. for all the usual banterings against the americans for their general fast paced, not a very family oriented outlook in life and the very mercenary transactions they grow up watching, for once my mind was filled with great respect at their reverence for their natural and historical heritage!!!
i said as much to my monk. he smiled and nodded his beautiful head.
i woke up the day of departure early and wished i had caught the sunrise on a beach . but the wants are seldom the occurences. so the monk and i left when the sun had fairly roused. i wanted to see the land and its people and my monk fulfilled my want.
we came upon a land so awe-inspiring that it was with diffidence a human being could concieve such a presence on earth, without a visual experience.
the small Victorian houses stood on their stead beckoning to be embraced as ones eternal dwelling place. the narrow winding which can hardly be called roads meandered through the sleepy wonderment of existence. the azure sky and the white candy clouds rendered the whole divine picture a bright hue. what with the loud calls of the sea-gulls, this coastal place had the air of a quaint bygone English countryside look. quietly moving along the streets , gratefully assited by the impeccable behaviour of our rented Subaru Outback, the monk and i kept driving towards our paradise, quite unknowingly.
the street would end as a decisive T junction. we parked our vehicle and no sooner would we cross the street, that we would stand at the brim of paradise. the edge of a Persian carpet like green meadow that would abruptly end to take the shape of the Atlantic Ocean. blue, eternal and sparkling under the autumn sun. so we took one of the narrow dirt trails along the meadow and walked slowly down where the meadow would end and a man made tarr jetty-like juttings, would start. this tarred patch had old rail jigs for trains some eras back. my mind conjured up the majesty of a train journey along the atlantic. we walked across the tarred patch and came at the edge of the Atlantic. yes just like we would come upon a small brook. as inconsequentially and as lovingly as possible. when we turned to look back at our point of descend, it was as beautiful a view as it was before we descended. The meadow was lined with white victorian houses.
i thought that man and nature can still live side by side, each respecting the other, unlike as in my country where we destroy our land, fell our trees and think of pubs and discotheques as the present day nirvana. i thought of our many wants and needs and sighed at our near sightedness and revelled at the peace and the quiet of the place. for all the usual banterings against the americans for their general fast paced, not a very family oriented outlook in life and the very mercenary transactions they grow up watching, for once my mind was filled with great respect at their reverence for their natural and historical heritage!!!
i said as much to my monk. he smiled and nodded his beautiful head.
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