Autumn Leaves

Fallen Autumn Leaves Blowing in the Wind

By John Taylor; 10 October, 2006

Today is my fiftieth birthday, and I am spending it doing the one thing I love most, getting on topic and then getting off it. First off, for those in the area, Ron Speer is giving a talk on the nature of work this evening at the Dunnville Library. That will be me, the guy putting the DVD into the machine.

We just got back from a Thanksgiving weekend stay at Silver Bay on Silver Lake, a YMCA resort situated in upper New York State's Adirondack Park. There we attended this year's ARE, Autuna Renkontigxo de Esperantistoj, or Fall Get-together of Esperantists, most of whom hailed from Montreal and New England, but some arrived from as far away as California and France.

On Friday we pulled the kids out of school at lunchtime and hit the road early. First we drove to Rochester, New York, where we stayed overnight with our family Esperantist friends, the Alexanders. It is thanks to the prompting of Tomaso Alexander that I was persuaded to go. I am very reluctant to travel. We got going early Saturday morning and we followed their mini-van, which set what is for me a breakneck pace. I could barely keep up, and it was obvious that he was slowing down so I could catch him. We drove at speeds I had never taken this car to, upwards of a hundred and twenty clicks, and that, combined with the raucous behavior of the children in the back seat, meant that I was well into a migraine by the time we arrived. Normally I drink bottle after bottle of water to counteract this, but my bathroom stops were too frequent as it was. Still, once we arrived the symptoms faded without the trauma of a major attack.

I had volunteered to give a presentation on the Master's visit to America, including an illustrated reading of his talks to the Esperantists in Edinburgh, Scotland, but I had not heard back from them and assumed there was no time or interest. I had had my usual technical difficulties putting it together anyway. When we awoke on Sunday morning I read the schedule found my and Silvie's name there first, slated for a 9 AM talk on "La Baha'a Religio." So with no notice or preparation, I wrote the principles on a whiteboard (had to get help translating "Economic Readjustment," which I learned is "ekonomia gxustigo") and I handed Silvie the mic to read each of them off, while I explained salient features of them, of the Faith and the Master's ideas about an international language.

Afterwards I answered questions, which were about the relations of Baha'is with the Esperanto movement. This experience, one of the few teaching experiences I have had in years, persuaded me that I should do more to till this fertile and neglected ground between Baha'i and Esperanto. During the talk I promised to finish the illustrated talk of the Master narrated by Silvie that I had originally conceived and to come back and present it at next year's ARE.

In the afternoon we hiked up a mountain, stopping periodically for Normando, who along with his wife Zdratka Fleury is the chief organizer of everything to do with ARE, to explain facts, names and details about the trees surrounding us. As a botanist at Montreal's botanical gardens, he was eminently qualified. His perorations included the names of each type of tree in French, Esperanto and English, as well as the nature of its ecological niche. The names of trees are oil covered in my brain and slip out as fast as they slip in, even when the name is in English. One tree, a member of the maple family, had a very broad leaf. Shown only the leaf alone you would imagine that it grew on a huge giant of a tree, but as he showed, the tree barely goes over most peoples' knees. It has such very large leaves in order to catch as much sunlight in the darkened mid-forest locations that it lives. In the rain forest, he went on, certain shaded plants grow huge leaves in order to catch the even tinier amount of light that penetrates the canopy of larger trees.

Another leaf Normando pointed out was from the hemlock tree. Somebody suggested that these leaves can be made into a tea. Normando is very French and gave his characteristic Pierre Trudeau shrug of the shoulders and "I do not know" movement of the hands. I objected, "Hey, didn't ingesting hemlock kill Socrates?" No, no, that is an herb of an entirely different species that has the same name. The tree is not poisonous. As the incline got steeper I found myself coming up with more botanical questions for Normando as an excuse to stop and catch my breath.

We made the summit with panorama, and looked down at the YMCA camp with Silver lake in the background. Then on the way down I was spontaneously interviewed by Zdratka about the details of my life. She explained that one should take a serpentine path down a steep slope in order to save the knees from too much stress. I found out later that she was raised in a mountainous area of Croatia and this was nothing for her. I was puffing to keep up and talk at the same time. It turned out that she uses an interesting literary form called a "protokolo" that I had never heard of. Instead of writing an essay or third-person biography, she interviews her subject, then writes a first-person narrative as if she were the person telling his or her life story. She then sends a draft to that person to check for accuracy and publishes a volume of several short life stories. This is similar to what I used to do in my youth, except that I left out the approval step and therefore have to leave my first person narratives until that person dies, along with all their family members. I never thought of getting permission.

At one point there was an oratory contest, a two to three minute speech, all of which were judged and the three best speakers given a prize. Silvie started it off with an explanation of her favorite thing in the whole world, the Silverwing series of novels. She was the only speaker who did not even reach the two minute warning. The winner was a tall, professorly-looking, bearded fellow called Francesco, who spoke of his love of learning a new language. For him learning a language is like entering a world, like being introduced to a new universe complete in itself. He spoke with the fervor that I imagine a sex addict might describe seducing a new lover. For him a new languages gives an authentic, incomparable taste of the history and collective experience of an entire culture. Fortunately Silvie was not present for the award presentation; she was off playing with Tomaso, her little brother, in one of the many play structures available on this campus. She never takes losing with anything like equanimity. But they did offer her a beginner's prize, three small booklets.

That evening we had a "kultura vespero" with presentations, music, games and other spontaneous activities contributed by those present. For that evening Silvie had a theatrical premier to offer. She wrote during the day just for that occasion a brief scene from a dramatic incident that takes place early in her Silverwing novel. She drafted Mom, Dad and little brother to play roles in it. All the family is a stage and all the people merely players. I played the only role I excel at, the bad guy, in this case an owl who wanted to kill Shade, the bat hero of the story, who had violated an ancient treaty agreement by staying outside long enough to glimpse the sun. The skit was actually about the filming of a live action version of the story and had two parts, the first of a scene where the actors mess up, the second part being when they get it right. It featured her usual sense of humor and might, with good actors, have had impact. But our messing up of the mess-up was not without inadvertent humor too.

At one point I got into an argument with an all-American fellow, call him Righty, who opined that the US government should boot out the UN and use the land in New York for something useful. I asked, did not the ending of the recent conflict in Lebanon by the UN not justify its existence even a little? No, they stopped that war too soon anyway, Israel should never have let Hezbollah win. Now things will be much worse. He then launched into a truly impressive explication of the complexities of the situation there and in Darfour. A political scientist could not have done better. The disquisition in detail was admirably accurate, but in conclusions and presuppositions preposterously bigoted. It reminded me of what you find in the propaganda sheet Time Magazine, which buries a situation in detailed commentary and only afterwards does the reader realize that the "news" article has been nothing but coaching in what and how to think. Think American. Power makes facts. Power makes truth. Do not even think of disagreeing.

For him, all Muslims are evil, hell-bent on erasing Israel and America, and it is the duty of every American to fight back against them. Islam is inherently warlike, always was and always will be. I found myself in the strange position of defending Muslims, all the while realizing that it is they, or at least certain fanatical leaders, who are hell bent-on erasing Baha'is from the map too. But you cannot throw out thousands of years of history and expect me to quietly consent.

I was amazed that any intelligent person could dress up bigotry in indisputable facts the way Righty did. I had read that such people are common in the US but had never witnessed it. Then the course of the evening seemed to underline the steel trap-like intelligence of this guy. He is a scrabble fan and clearly razor sharp with words; he suggested at the end of the evening a game he called Vortaro, or dictionary. You take the dictionary, in this case the PIV, Plena Ilustrita Vortaro, which plays a role in Esperanto much like the OED, Oxford English Dictionary, does for English, and you read a random definition and the group has to guess what word is being defined.

I mentioned Noam Chomsky and learned that he is a traitor. I asked if Righty was a Republican and everybody was shocked. A Republican would never come near Esperanto. Which, I suppose, would place Righty towards the leftward end of the American political spectrum, if you can call such a monochrome display a "spectrum." The only way to get peace in the world, according to Righty, would be for the three hundred million Americans to kill every one of the billion Muslims in the world. A three to one disadvantage, but remember who is carrying the big stick.

I have the type of brain that has to see the whole before I make a judgment. When I hear a song or poem I never understand a word or a note the first time around, only the second time do I begin to grasp and enjoy it. Sometimes it takes more than that to sink in. But Righty in almost every case guessed the word being defined when Normando had got only two or three words into reading it. Righty clearly had played vortaro many times before. Once, only once did I guess the word, one of only a few times that they managed to get through an entire definition with nobody guessing. My word was something about a Japanese stove used for cooking or heating a room. I guessed "hibacxo." I had not realized that a hibachi was used for heating too. Righty's prowess was impressive, but he had suggested the game. Later I realized that I could have gotten a similar victory rush if I had challenged everybody to a game of chess. I could have blown all comers off the board just like Righty had with his Vortaro. But what would that prove?

On the long, boring trip home I thought a great deal about Righty and our little verbal skirmish. I have to say that I came to see George Bush in a new light. In a land where people think so belligerently and ahistorically, Bush truly is a moderate. He is the closest thing you get to an enlightened leader. Lesser leaders, leaders closer to the pulse of public opinion, might have made subsequent events into a huge bloodbath rather than the slow bloodletting that it turned out to be.

But the real question is, how do such stale, borrowed opinions proliferate? Then I thought of that broad-leaved, stunted, forest floor dwelling tree. Trees dwelling in direct sunlight need only small leaves. In fact, I had asked Normando this, what happens if that broad leafed maple-relative is exposed to direct sunlight? The leaves burn up, I was told. That is what has happened to both Americans and Muslims, they have become so isolated, so insular in their separate worlds that very little light gets through to them.

Minds in a non-diverse ecosystem respond by entering into fervent competition for a small amount of truth, a filtered, weak smidgeon that must suffice to keep them alive. It is a life and death struggle for them to become sensitive to dark, dank lighting conditions; their only survival measure is to grow very big opinions, as broad and universal as possible, opinions that cover everything. Make your point of view, your politics, your circumstantial beliefs into something that keeps you alive. They are your whole life, your religion; so, inflate yourself, make it so that you win every argument, every game. Scott Adams called one of his books, "Since when did ignorance become a point of view?" I would add, "Since when did arrogance become a lifestyle?" But that is just what happens. When supercharged, oversized opinions burn up we get what is called war. Violence of some kind or other is the only possible result.

I took about 600 megs of photos on this trip but did I take a picture of that ridiculous knee-high maple with its huge leaves? I do not think so. I will have to get a shot of one next time we plunge into a deep forest.

Anyway, look at what happened in Europe. Two world wars, two turns at total destruction finally convinced their elites that unification is safer, more stable and profitable than pandering to the hatreds of the ignorant. Look at the Muslim World and its mirror opposite, America. They escaped such suffering and still abide in a protected, shady environment. They are never wrong, and if there is a chance that they might lose, they refuse to play. Arrogance breeds unchecked. The only thing that will persuade them to reduce the size of their opinions is getting burned.

To give an example of the denial that thrives in insularity, a recent survey of Mullahs in Canada found that every man jack of them firmly believes that the events of 9-11 were the result of a conspiracy by, well, you fill in the name of the conspirators, as long as it is not Muslims. Same thing with Nazis after the exposure of the concentration camps. Deniers say, do not confuse me with the facts. Same as big leafed plant might say, do not burn me up with the sunlight. Same way, the 12 September speech of the pope given in Germany quoting a medieval Christian emperor as saying that the Islamic concept of jihad was evil and inhuman, that could only have been said by someone ignorant of the meaning of the word Jihad. The medieval emperor perhaps had an excuse, but this modern pope? No. The darkness is not ignorance but denial. The tree refuses to leave its forest shade.

Indeed, what is humility, I ask you? It is the ability to sustain your ego without ego stroking; the ability to mold what is yours into what is in others too, like the rustling of an aspen tree.

The process of Baha'i consultation is such rustling leaves. It avoids solitude, competition, violence, strife and conflict by moving everybody out into the light. That is what it does intellectually, but spiritually? That is the essential part, the prayer and reflection that precede opening our mouth or even forming our opinions. That inner reformation allows a new, fresh leaf of opinion to spring out, not a dead, borrowed, pre-made point of view. The spiritual step conditions the tree of the heart, takes it out of the dark and adapts it to the light, puts us into a fuller state. Then we know that we can afford to carry tiny, un-obstructive opinions, compact, efficient viewpoints limited within the bounds of divine law, leaves that sustain elegantly. These little leaves do not burn up.

The Baha'i spirit is leaves of one tree, but not just any tree. It is a tree adapted to a bright, direct light, the tree of One God. If I had to pick a part of the Writings that illustrates this, it would be the Tarazat, or Ornaments, especially the opening section of Tarazat number two, which starts off:

"The second Taraz is to consort with the followers of all religions in a spirit of friendliness and fellowship, to proclaim that which the Speaker on Sinai hath set forth and to observe fairness in all matters. They that are endued with sincerity and faithfulness should associate with all the peoples and kindreds of the earth with joy and radiance, inasmuch as consorting with people hath promoted and will continue to promote unity and concord, which in turn are conducive to the maintenance of order in the world and to the regeneration of nations. Blessed are such as hold fast to the cord of kindliness and tender mercy and are free from animosity and hatred. This Wronged One exhorteth the peoples of the world to observe tolerance and righteousness, which are two lights amidst the darkness of the world and two educators for the edification of mankind. Happy are they who have attained thereto and woe betide the heedless." (Tablets, 35-36)

That word "ornament," so common in Baha'u'llah's Writing, has always puzzled me. Does not ornament mean something that can be disposed of, something not necessary? Yes, a big, small leafed tree can well dispense of many of its leaves, and in the present autumn season it dispenses with them all. That is why we all die, every man jack of us. But if we grow as tiny leaves on the Big Tree of Oneness we know we were created for this and we go with joy.

For me the highlight of the Kultura Vespero was a brilliant young Montreal cellist who could do things with that big, clumsy instrument that you would not think possible. He played an impressionistic composition about birds in a bush and I could have sworn I heard the flitting of their wings and the twittering of their birdsong. For his encore he asked the audience to suggest a theme. Someone suggested fallen autumn leaves blowing in the wind. Again, a unique sound that will never be repeated, just like what we do in His service. When I remember his music I think of the Tarazat and the effect it must eventually, have even in the darkest reaches of the human forest.