Talas and Lilanthro walked together in reflective silence through the forest. Lilanthro experienced waves of excitement and nervousness playing through her body as she moved, but the familiarity of the forest environment also soothed her. She smiled with inner warmth at the sights, sounds and smells of many kindred beings as they glided onwards. As ever, she could not sense what Talas’s thoughts might be. He emanated a silken glow of love, calm and knowingness as he always did, but whatever other thoughts and feelings might be passing fleetingly through his depths or lingering there for a while, she could not tell.

They walked all morning through parts of the forest unknown to Lilanthro, travelling always further away from the direction of her home. Around midday Lilanthro sensed they were drawing near. She was aware of an ancient presence. Something was here that had been here far longer than the surrounding forest. It was by no means as old as the rocks into which the roots of so many plants buried themselves, but still it had seen many summers and winters passing, and had created a deep impression of belonging which hung tangibly in the air.

Quite suddenly the space opened up and there it was. The king of trees stood in its own small clearing, with a ring of respectful sunlight surrounding it. The tree did not demand this space, its branches spread outwards in a welcoming gesture not an arrogant one, but still the other trees had of one accord grown at a distance and bowed down around it. The tree was vast. Its trunk was thick, gnarled and solid with a girth which had to be walked around to be fully appreciated. Its branches expanded out from a low height and continued expanding gloriously outwards up to its highest reaches. The branches wove their own patterns of exploration, criss crossing and experimenting with many different directions and unexpected twists. The tree’s abundant upwelling of life reached to the furthest end of every branch where leaves adorned it in every available space. The leaves themselves were a richly jewelled green that flashed darker and lighter as they moved, displaying their upper and under sides as they danced with the sun. Their movements were entrancing, Lilanthro watched them responding like a flock of birds in flight as ripples of wind washed through them and felt herself following the pull of their graceful dance.

Lilanthro could have stood for hours in silent communication with this tree, listening to its slow melodic voice and feeling her way into its patient stillness and intoxicatingly alive movements. But Talas gently touched her arm and guided her to a rock in the clearing where they could both sit and look at the tree.

“Lilanthro, I know there is much you already know about this tree and much you can learn without my help. But on this one occasion I would like to teach you a little bit about what I know. Would that be all right with you?”

“Of course Talas! Please, I am eager to learn anything that you can teach me…”

“Thank you Lilanthro. Then I shall begin. Everyone alive knows everything they need to know, there are no real secrets in this world. The answers are deep down inside every one of us… Bit we tend to forget them. Life is a dance whose very first movement is forgetfulness, and the rest of the dance is spent remembering that which we forgot. So I am going to imagine now that there may be things you have forgotten about this tree. I am going to tell you the story of this tree’s life as if you have never heard it before. Most of it you will know as I speak it, but there may be moments where you realise that you had forgotten a tiny detail and my words may rekindle the truth of it for you. Do you understand?”

Lilanthro nodded.

“Then I will continue. This is the oldest tree in the forest for many miles around. It has stood on this very spot for nigh on five hundred years. It has seen five hundred summers and five hundred winters. It was alive before any of the surrounding trees were born. It has seen other trees come and go throughout its long life. But it was not always as majestic as it is now.

Once upon a time, it was just a tiny seed lying half buried in the ground. How it got here is a tale that stretches too far back for us to reach right now. But if you had wandered through this forest when it lay here and you had picked up the seed, you would never have guessed to what great heights and majesty this tree would grow. Imagine, if you came from another world and had never seen a tree… If someone showed you a seed and then a tree and told you that one would become the other… you would likely laugh and never believe them. How could something so small, fragile and unassuming ever become so vast?

But from the tiny seed, a tiny tree did indeed emerge. Imagine Lilanthro, how small and tentative that tiny plant was at first. How thin and soft its stem and how small its network of roots. It took many years for that tiny plant to grow up towards the light and for its roots to spread out and down into the soil and rock. I wonder how many baby leaves, as tenderly soft and delicately coloured as it is possible for a leaf to be, budded, unfolded, expanded, matured and died before this tree became full grown. Thousands maybe, or thousands of thousands even… A seemingly infinite number of leaves have lived, died and returned to the soil around this tree, year in year out, before it even reached maturity. I wonder how many millions more have gone through the same cycle in all the long years since…

There must have been times when this tree almost died… A harsh winter while it was so very young, animals that could have eaten it, other trees reaching upwards and outwards which could have smothered out the light… But survive it did, to reach its peak, and since then it has lived for several hundred years in relative security, through so many winters, springs, summers and autumns.

It has felt the ebb and flow of the forest and the subtle changes over time. It has seen other plants live, grow and die around it. It has heard and felt a hundred thousand animals and birds come and go. And it has unceasingly gone through its own cycle of growth and death, wakefulness and sleep.

Imagine, Lilanthro, if you had lived the life of this tree. Imagine, being the young plant reaching up to the sun, how you would instinctively have known what you needed to do. Your roots would have crept out into the soil to seek the minerals, moisture and firm foundation. Your stem would have grown upwards sending your leaves up to the sunlight to make food and find air. You would have rejoiced in both sunlight and rain, feeling every drop of each with joyful gratitude. There was no need to question, every cell in your being yearned to grow and knew how to do it.

Imagine, Lilanthro, as you grew up how aware you would have become of the turning of the seasons and the necessity of each one for your existence. Every spring would have brought a reminder of your early youth as you felt your sap flowing freely and your leaves opening with soft, childlike excitement, eager to show off their bright green-ness to the world. The summers would have felt like a gift of abundance as you displayed your flowers and fruit, dancing in full glory. In autumn you would have felt the mellowing of energy, the beauty of fiery colours all around and the acceptance of what was to lie ahead. And the winters, oh in the winters, you would have gladly pulled your sap inwards and rested, dreamily sleeping your way through the cold and the dark, trusting that spring would return again. You would not have fought any of the seasons, not clung to spring or resisted winter. For you knew that to hold on to the freshness of spring would mean to lose the wonders of summer, and to hold back from the darkness of winter would mean to forfeit the joyous rebirth of spring. You knew how each season flows ever onwards into the next, each bringing its own rewards and sacrifices. You lived fully every moment of every season, while gladly relinquishing your hold when the time came.

Imagine, Lilanthro, as you approached maturity, how you may have looked around you at all the other animals and plants that came and went, rejoicing in the multitude of life and marvelling at the richness of it. It would never have occurred to you to wish you could be one of them instead of what you were… You are a tree, you know your shape and form, you know what you are, you know your purpose. You do not question why you are a tree instead of an ant, you trust that you are meant to be a tree. You do not look with envy at the wolves, wanting their strength and wild nature for yourself. You do not wish to be an owl, and have its capacity for flight, or doom yourself to live in a constant state of ‘if only, if only…’ You allow all of life around you to be as it is, and allow yourself to be as you are.

Now imagine, Lilanthro, that you are the tree in full maturity, having been this way for many years. Imagine how your awareness of your place in the world would have expanded and deepened over time. Marvel at how many small creatures have sought shelter amongst your comforting roots and hollows, and how willingly you have offered it. Remember how many other creatures have made a home within your branches and how gladly you have protected them and watched their families grow. And smile at how many more creatures have been nourished by your rich nectar and fruits, year in, year out. You know full well that your generous outpourings have helped you as much as them, enabling your life energy to be passed on to a new generation, to your many children. The cycle of inward and outward flow is so natural, one simply cannot exist without the other. If you gave all your nourishment outwards without replenishing it you would soon weaken and die, and then none of the animals would benefit from your generosity. If you kept your bounty for yourself and held back your sweet nectar and fruits, your essence would fade away and your purpose in this life would never be fulfilled. You give out and you take in, just as you breathe out and in, in constant flow. Can you imagine a feeling aligned with love at the thought of this ceaseless flow, which has given you so much and enabled you to give so much out to the world? How does it feel, Lilanthro, what does this feeling look like, what does it sound like, how does it taste?

Hold that feeling close as you imagine you are the tree standing before us now, having lived a long, rich life. Can you sense an even deeper knowledge that you hold within you at the meeting point of inward and outward flow? Imagine that you know in this deepest place that you are not really a tree at all, you are playing at being one, and playing your part whole-heartedly, but really, you, the wolf, the ant, the butterfly… are not quite what you seem. You are delicate patterns in a beautiful, woven tapestry. Can you see the tapestry Lilanthro? There are many wonderfully woven forms on this tapestry, but if you look beneath the forms, you see that they are all woven with the same thread. This one, silken, many coloured thread creates your being and connects you to every other being in the tapestry. The thread has woven you into a tree, and woven the ant into an ant, but when you look just at the thread, you see that you are all one. Who wove this tapestry, I wonder, was it you or was it someone else? Maybe it was the part of you who is the thread rather than the tree… The tapestry spreads out in all directions further than the eye can follow. Is it infinite do you think? You know your place within the tapestry, you know how to be completely yourself, completely, wholly a tree because this is what you have been woven to be, and it is through your tree-ness that you can give to the world and receive from it. You are here to experience your unique place within the tapestry and through your form, the thread can manifest love. But you know that you are also not really a tree, you are the living thread that weaves all things, you are the one behind the many and the source of all love. You are both form and source, at one and the same time.

Lastly, imagine Lilanthro, being this tree in the near future, not so far away, maybe another hundred years or so. Imagine feeling your sap starting to fade, knowing your time is ending as it must, knowing you will soon no longer be the tallest, oldest tree in the forest, but that you will die and fade away. Imagine knowing that your body will be consumed by the forest, that it will decay and rot as new young trees spring up in your place. Winter is calling you home, your form is about to dissolve. You know there is no need to fear, you trust the thread which weaves the tapestry so you will go, happily, gladly, gratefully, giving yourself willingly into life’s hands and letting death envelop you. Day and night are a tiny part of the cycling of the seasons, the seasons are a tiny part of the cycling of your life, and your life is a tiny part of ever greater cycles… And all these are but beautiful, spiralling patterns on the tapestry. Your form will fade away, but the thread will not. Part of you will die, but the other part, the thread… I wonder what beautiful forms it may weave next as it continues its endless expression of love?”

As Talas’s words died away, a silence enveloped the girl, the man and the tree in an embrace that for a fleeting moment melted the boundaries between them so that they became as one…

Then the sounds of the forest re-asserted themselves and Lilanthro shook herself awake as if from a deep sleep where she had dreamt longingly and joyfully of home…

TO READ CHAPTER 8 CLICK HERE!

Talas and Lilanthro sat together in the garden as a warm and welcoming new day began.

“Lilanthro, why did you ask if I could teach you to be like me, when I am so old and grey, and you are so young and vibrant?” Talas gently enquired.

Lilanthro hesitated in shyness, “Because, you know so much more than me. You seem to know everything. And you are so kind, and you don’t judge. You are just… no words do you justice.”

“And how do you feel about these things?” Probed Talas.

“Small I guess. And clumsy. Like a child. But grateful too, and in awe of you.”

“Hmmm. I am wondering Lilanthro, how about the villagers. What are your thoughts and feelings towards them, having studied them for a while?”

Lilanthro wriggled in slight discomfort and thought for a moment, “Many things Talas. They confuse me, so one thing I feel is confusion. With some of them I feel awe and smallness, although not as much as with you. With some I feel happy and joyful, although tinged with jealousy that I am not experiencing their happiness. With some, I fear them and their hardened, angry behaviour. With some I am sad for their sadness, and also sad that I cannot mend this for them. With some, I hurt when I feel their fear and feel powerless that I cannot help them dispel the fear. Overall, I feel a little dizzy, and find it hard to breathe. They have so many ways of being and doing, it is hard to be among them without feeling overwhelmed. And I feel ashamed and angry at myself that I have not been able to reach out to them openly and reveal myself, but scared to do so because I do not know how I should appear to them. With some I think I should behave one way to be accepted, but with others I think I should behave quite differently.”

“A wonderful answer Lilanthro!” said Talas with a comforting smile. “Confusion, awe, happiness, jealousy, fear, sadness, hurt, powerless, overwhelmed, ashamed, angry, self-judging… What a splendid mixture of thoughts and emotions! And did I hear the word ‘should’ creep in there too? How should you behave to be accepted by them…? Yes, quite perfect. Now tell me, Lilanthro, what does your heart say about these things?”

Lilanthro breathed deeply, “I guess my heart wants to say that it is all OK really, that these things are not real, or not important, and it asks me not to forget it is there. But its words are slightly hidden from me. My heart is still there if I really listen, but the thoughts and feelings sit on top of it and squash it a bit so I cannot hear it so clearly…”

“Lilanthro, you are doing so well. Tell me more about your heart…”

“It feels closed, slightly. Before coming to the village, I never had to think about it… It is so strange, I almost had not noticed this change. Before, my heart was just there, it guided me and I followed, we danced together and sang together and climbed mountains together. I never even quite realised it was my companion, we just were. But since being in the village, it is as if my heart were a friend that I have stopped talking to and listening to so much… I can feel it there, but it feels a little constricted, or wounded, or caged. It feels closed. As if I have wrapped it up in layers, and it is now slightly veiled from me. I feel lacking because of it… I feel a little wounded…”

“And what is it that veils your heart?” Asked Talas.

“The veils are my feelings and my thoughts,” replied Lilanthro without hesitation, “The veils are my confusions and fears and wondering how I should be and all those things… I can feel those layers pulsing so strongly, they feel very real to me, they have substance. But because of them, my heart feels shut away and shrunken… Maybe hurting that I am ignoring it…”

“Is your heart really wounded Lilanthro? Does it really feel hurt by you?”

Lilanthro breathed deeply again to steady herself, “No, I guess not. I feel it that way, but maybe that is just because my connection to it is weakened. My heart is probably there as purely as it has always been, but the hurt and wound and lacking are veils around it, making the connection weaker… Which makes me feel weaker and lacking and wounded…”

“Lilanthro, you perceive so clearly. Well done. All these things you feel and think, they are so amazing. Before you came to this village, what did you feel and think then?”

“I don’t quite know, I never had to think about it!” Lilanthro replied, “I felt happy to be alive. I felt excited to be exploring each new day. I felt warmth and love for the animals and plants. I felt grateful for the sun and rain and wind. I ran, danced, sung, ate, slept, played, sat… I felt peaceful, I felt complete, I did not feel lacking. I just was and the world was with me… I don’t know how to express it in words…”

“And then you came here and everything changed…”

“Yes, everything changed… And now I don’t quite know what to do about it. I don’t want to undo all my experiences here, but I do not know how to also regain what I have lost… That is why I wanted to be like you, you are at one with everything from your heart, to your human-ness, to the whole world…”

“Do not worry Lilanthro, all in good time. But first, tell me, who do you think you would be if you had grown up here?”

Lilanthro replied in a rush, “Oh, so many things and people. I might have grown up to be the sad woman or the angry man, the fearful boy or the happy girl… I could have been any one of them had I lived their life… I cannot guess with any certainty who I would be had I grown up in their shoes… I am so lucky. I was able to grow up feeling in tune with my heart and the world all around me. If I had grown up here with so many discordant possibilities of how and who to be, how to act and behave… I don’t think I would have heard and felt the world around me or my heart within me, I would have been too busy working out what I had to do to be a villager and fit into the village, or rebel from it… The veils would have been many and they would have wrapped and knotted themselves around my heart so tightly in a thousand different variations…”

“Yes Lilanthro… Indeed, you could have been anyone had you grown up here and the veils could have been of many colours, patterns and knots. But you did not grow up here. You are you. You grew up in the forest with only your heart and the heart of the world to guide you… All souls begin that way, and then they come here to the world of being human. When you came to this village, was it not as if you had just been born?”

“Yes!” replied Lilanthro, “That is exactly how it feels. Before coming here, I was held in the womb of the world… Now I have been born and I am human and there is no going back… And my heart is veiled from me. How do I rid myself of the veils so that I can hear my heart strongly again?”

Talas laughed one of his rich, soothing laughs, that melted Lilanthro’s veil of fear, “Oh Lilanthro. You cannot rid yourself of the veils, they are part of being in this world of human experience, they are part of what you have been born for. You are indeed fortunate, your heart may be veiled from you but your veils are few and you can see them; not all of the villagers can do that. The way forward is not to destroy the veils, this would only inadvertently create more… Would you like to know the secret of how to be yourself complete with all your veils, and with your heart free and unshackled?”

Lilanthro nodded vigorously. Talas continued, “The secret is to learn to dance with the veils so that they do not tighten around you and bind your heart. The secret is to accept their presence with lightness, to allow air under their billowing sails so that they flow around you. To welcome their many glowing colours and textures, to spin wonderful pictures with them, and to sing songs about them… To accept them so that they fly like kites around you… In this way, they can exist as they need to, and your heart will remain open and strong at the centre of all things… Free to watch them appreciatively and smile at their antics, free to speak to you and tell you how things really are, free to deepen your connection to the heart of the world around you…”

Lilanthro felt tear drops on her cheeks, “That is so beautiful. You speak and I see glorious swirls of colour before my eyes and feel my heart bursting within me… How do I learn to dance this magical dance of which you speak?”

Talas had a twinkle in his eye as he replied, “For that I think we must pay a visit to a friend of mine; the oldest tree in the forest.”

“I will go with you to wherever you say we must go!” Declared Lilanthro. And in a moment of total unselfconsciousness she went to him and hugged him. Her heart was full of such gratitude towards him that all her veils slipped away and she felt its pure love flowing out, intertwining with his and rejoicing in finding its place in the world.

Talas kissed her forehead and gave her a mischievous wink, “Well Lilanthro, the day is young… My friend is waiting… Let us be on our way…”

And with that they set off to the heart of the forest, where the oldest tree for many miles around stood as it had stood for hundreds of years, patiently waiting to be paid a visit from Talas and Lilanthro…

TO READ CHAPTER 7 CLICK HERE!

As the feral girl walked tentatively forwards out of the surrounding safety of her forest home into the tranquil oasis of the garden, the old man turned his gaze towards her. As his eyes found hers, the girl felt as she had felt when she attempted to peek inside him and discovered him looking directly, deeply into her. In that moment, she was aware that nothing was hidden from him; her life in the forest, her studies of the villagers, her spying on him, all was revealed and laid bare. How vulnerable she felt as her feet kept walking her forwards, and how fearful of his judgement.

But in the flickers of a second that she dared meet his eyes before looking back down at her feet, she felt her body be soothed by the softness of his gaze. And a moment later, the deepest, warmest smile spread across his face and flowed out from his body to envelope her in its velvet embrace.

“Welcome Lilanthro, please, would you be kind enough to help me tend to my plants?”

The feral girl had no idea why he called her Lilanthro, but all she could manage in reply was a quietly spoken, “Yes, of course.”

So together they made their dance of the garden, with him leading the way and she shyly following. The old man stroked and smiled at the plants, all the while talking soothingly to the girl. He told her the names of each plant, their characters, the colours of their flowers and which birds favoured each one. Many of these things she already knew, but she had never given voice to them before and never put names to them. She could sense that he was aware of her connection with the plants; he was not lecturing her with his own knowledge or declaring it better than hers, just including her in his world and delicately enticing her out of her frightened bubble.

From the brightness of morning till the soft dying glow of evening the man and the girl stayed in the garden together. She followed his lead in all things. They tended the plants, they sat, they walked, they mended broken pots, they planted bulbs, they watched the birds. At times the old man would gently tell her intricately woven details about his garden. At other times they would work together in silence. Occasionally he would ask her a question or two, but only simple ones like whether she would like some food to eat, or if she could hand him a tool to work with. He created a space in which they could both exist together and placed no demands upon her.

The girl would answer when questioned, nod in agreement with his words and smile when smiled at. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask him and a hundred things she wanted to share with him. But instead she became like a timid bird of the forest watching the friendly giant hold out food for her, darting forwards to snatch crumbs from his fingers then returning to her position of fear-filled, hope-filled stillness. She felt in awe of the old man, tiny compared to his vastness, and awkward as if any knowledge she did possess had drained out of her and she did not have the words to recall it.

She was full of a blurred array of emotions yet empty of the ability to think or to act. She was so happy to be with the old man, so happy he had accepted her and was asking nothing of her, that she wanted desperately to throw her arms around him crying “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” a thousand times over. But she dared do no more than quicken her heart beat and hold back her grateful tears.

That evening, the old man turned to the girl and said, “Lilanthro, where would you like to sleep this night? I have a hammock we can hang in the garden where the plants will take good care of you, or would you rather return to the comfort of your own bed in your forest home?”

The girl replied, “I, I will go to my own bed… But, thank you.”

“Whatever you wish is good Lilanthro. I hope you will return and help me again tomorrow. I have enjoyed your company today and I have need of a helper here, to cultivate my garden and mend some baskets… Would you do me the honour of assisting me again?”

The feral girl blushed as she responded, “Yes, yes, please, I would like that very much. Thank you.”

And so the girl slid out of his garden to the edge of the forest. She did not go far, but slept in the branches of the nearest tree overhanging the garden, close enough to feel his presence, far enough away to be wrapped in the safety of her own solitary world. That night her dreams were full of both wonder and uncertainty, and the next day she awoke in the same state of slightly displaced suspension.

For the following two weeks, the feral girl arrived in the old man’s garden each morning as he greeted the sun. Their days were spent working together and each evening the girl would return to her nest in the branches next to his home. Over those days, the old man worked his magic, patiently, artfully inviting the girl out of her cocoon of shyness.

He talked to her, taught her how to weave straw into baskets, left her by herself amongst the plants, smiled and laughed often, gave her space to grow less timid and more bold. Over the first week, the feral girl began to smile more often, to answer his questions more boldly, to start telling him of her life in the forest, to ask him about his life, even to sing softly to herself as she worked. During the second week, she would laugh as he laughed, dance the morning dance in her own way while he sat by and watched, and have moments of unselfconscious talking, exuberantly telling him stories of wolf cubs, mountains and butterflies. She lost her fear, her shyness and once again became herself, free to be in tune with the garden, the animals and the surrounding forest, feeling equal enough to be in the old man’s company and able to hold a silence with him in which they both sat with calmness and lightness.

After two weeks of being in his company, she at last asked him, “Why is it you call me Lilanthro?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye,”The little gift which you left on the pillows of all the villagers, is the flower which we call White Star. Its secret name, which I use to call it out of its sleepiness, is Lilanthro. I thought you might like it… But you are of course free to change it and pick another name, or no name at all if you prefer…”

“I will keep it,” Lilanthro replied, “Do you have a name?”

“Ah, two wonderful questions in a row which I am happy that you’ve asked!” He said with a mischievous laugh and gentle smile, “I have a few names, and they have changed over the years, but you can call me Talas if you like.”

“Talas… You know all about me don’t you?” Lilanthro asked, with nervousness starting to creep up inside her and wrap itself around her throat.

“Lilanthro, there are a few things in this world I know, and many things I do not know, but yes, I know a little of you.”

With a sudden urge to speak what was in her heart, Lilanthro swept the nervousness to one side and said, “Will you teach me… Will you teach me to be like you?”

Talas laughed again, a rich vibrant laugh that caused the flowers to sway appreciatively and the birds to ruffle their feathers in delight, “A third wonderful question!” He declared. “However, alas, I cannot teach you to be like me. Maybe though, I can help you to be more like yourself… How about that?”

Lilanthro did not really know what he meant, but she did not want to turn down any offers of teaching from Talas so she replied, “You have given me my name, you have accepted me without rebuking me my errors, I will gladly learn whatever you are generous enough to teach me.”

At exactly the right moment, in exactly the right place, the pupil had found her teacher. How could it be any other way, does not a teacher always appear when a student is ready?

TO READ CHAPTER 6 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl arrived at the old man’s home early one warm, soft morning. The sun was trickling gently through the overhanging branches surrounding the clearing as she approached. The old man lived on his own in a little hut at the outer edge of the village, a short distance away from any other dwelling. There was a small garden surrounding his home which ran to the edge of the clearing itself, where it merged invisibly into forest; a smooth flowing transition from cared for greenness to dark, tangled wildness.

When the feral girl saw him for the first time he was coming out of his door and into his garden oasis. He moved with a softness to every step and a calm steadiness of posture. He paused outside his doorway for a moment. The feral girl could sense him feeling the freshness of the world around him, opening his eyes, ears, lungs and skin to the new day. He took some long, gentle breaths, looking up at the sky and greeting the sun with his glance. A bird chose that moment to sing its own welcome to the new day and he turned to it with a smile, uttering a few soft sounds which the feral girl could not hear.

As he moved out into the garden the girl was surprised to feel the plants responding to his presence. They stirred themselves as if out of a daydream and awaited his touch with anticipation. Their sap quickened, their leaves trembled, their petals opened. He moved among them with such fluid grace that the hidden girl felt her own body sway in response. It was if he was engaged in a secret dance of intricate steps which led him from plant to plant. As he passed each one he would stroke a leaf, whisper a secret greeting or smile an ever welcoming smile. His presence was nourishment to the plants; the girl could feel them expanding as if a gentle rain had just fallen.

The feral girl was mesmerised by the sight of the old man and intoxicated by the closeness of his presence. He stayed in the garden all day tending to his plants, and the girl remained there all day watching him. He continued to move calmly with a lightness that belied his age. Often he was quiet, with a wonderful spreading outwards kind of silence that brought peace flowing into her being as she watched. At other times he talked to himself, the plants and the world around him. Sometimes he sang a lilting song which rippled delicately through the girl, tugging on her vocal chords, willing her to utter her own melody alongside his. Often he smiled and occasionally he laughed to himself, a warm, rich laugh, that melted out of his mouth and into the world. The feral girl felt soothed to her core. The chaotic contrast of the other villagers’ lives and her own attempts to understand them had created a strange turmoil inside her which this man alone was able to quieten.

For the whole of that first day the feral girl remained in her secret hiding place transfixed by the old man. That night she did not creep into the village to leave any tokens but instead wrapped herself up in dreams in which he would often appear. The following day she could not wait to return to her hiding place by his garden to sit and drink in his presence and that night was full of more dreams where his voice called softly to her.

On the third day she stirred herself from her enchantment to begin a closer study of him. She began her usual soft delving into his internal world, intuitively slipping under the outer layers to see what lay beneath…

But the very moment she peeked within she felt a sudden, rushing sensation as the entire universe shifted. The jolt shocked her so much that she withdrew her enquiring inner gaze instantly. Her whole body was quivering, her mind dazed, her pulse pounding and her heart suspended. What was that sensation she had just experienced? She had no idea.

Tentatively she sent her inner sense probing once more and, once more, recoiled from the shock. A strange new fear overcame her. Not a bad fear as such, but a realisation that his inner world was beyond her. The old man’s inner realm was in tune with his outer one in a far greater way than the feral girl’s. And it was vast. Infinite even. It included more than she had ever known, ever sensed, or ever dreamed existed. His world encompassed an awareness that emanated from deep within and extended outwards to places so distant she could not begin to imagine them. She would touch into it and find the breath taken from her body as if she had fallen out of a tiny box into an expanded universe so vast as to be indescribable.

And somewhere within that falling sensation she thought she caught a glimpse of his smile. It was directed at her and for the briefest moment she felt that he had seen her. Not just seen her hiding in amongst the undergrowth, but seen inside to the vast lake of her soul and beyond.

The feral girl quickly gave up her attempts to peek inside the old man. She felt like an ant attempting to study an elephant. But what now? She had come to a standstill. Her studies of the other villagers were complete. Her attempts to slip into their lives with flowers, dances and whisperings were leading nowhere. And now there was this old man whose vastness humbled her and left her feeling slightly ashamed of her own smallness. She couldn’t keep spying on him, she felt embarrassed that she had already done so. Her path was once more at a crossroads and it was simply a matter of picking one of two opposing directions; she could either return to the forest or reveal herself to him.

She wanted desperately to stay and meet the old man. She could not imagine slinking silently back to her forest now and leaving the one person who brought her such peace and such wonder. She trembled at the thought of approaching him. What if he had seen her? What if he was angry at how she had spied on him? What if he told her to go away? What if she was rejected by the only human being she had ever wanted to step out of the shadows to meet?

While she hid in the trees watching the old man, wondering if she could find the courage to step forwards into his garden, she had no idea that the smile on his face was about her, no idea that he was waiting for her, allowing her to make the first move, smiling at her fears and knowing they would soon be put to rest.

The next day she made her decision, although in reality she had already made it and had just needed time to find the courage. She arrived early just before he appeared in his garden. She waited until he opened the door and breathed in the day. She waited until he had completed his dance of caring attention with every single plant. She waited until he had settled into one of his still, quiet pauses.

And then she stepped shyly, hesitatingly forwards to meet him, with a fearful smile on her face and a tremulous heart beating within her…

TO READ CHAPTER 5 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl remained living on the edges of the village for another three months, an unseen shadow flitting in and out at the periphery of the villagers’ lives. Gradually, with tentative patience, she learnt more about the inhabitants of her new world.

She decided to pick out individual people and follow their lives for a few days at a time. She found it easier to decipher their existence when she could concentrate on just one person rather than the cacophony of several people all at once. She studied their appearance, their posture, the way they moved their bodies and gestured when they spoke. She studied their words and how they acted around the people they were talking to. She studied how they seemed when alone compared to when with others. She crept into the village at night to watch them sleeping and sense the secrets held in their dream worlds.

Over time she realised that if she maintained a clear focus and a stillness within herself she could begin to feel what and how and who each person was, just as she could feel the being-ness of the mountains and trees. As she slowly, softly, gently began to feel her way into the minds, bodies and hearts of each person, she created a delicate thread of connection with them. When she shut out all the confusion of their complicated lives, their routines and paths that criss-crossed in so many different directions, she became less disorientated and more interested in the intimate detail of each person. One by one, the people started to make sense to her, and one by one she started to feel something for them.

Some of the villagers were a joy to study. She loved the children who were so soft in their characters, so bright in their energy, so alive and in touch with the world around them. She longed to jump out from her hiding place to play with them, just as she played with the wolf cubs. And some of the adults were astonishing to her. She felt such strength in some, such bubbles of laughter in others, such quiet patience, such fiery resolve… so many different ways of being. She suddenly felt very small herself, and almost a little embarrassed; who was she when surrounded by these colourful, knowledgeable giants? She fell in love with some of the adults while at the same time doubting that she had anything to offer them which could make them love her in return.

Other adults surprised her in a different way. Strangely, their inner and outer worlds did not match. On the outside, they displayed certain traits of character which were not the same as the currents of thought and feeling hidden within them. The feral girl had never experienced this before; an eagle was an eagle on the outside and inside, a flower was a flower in its being as much as its appearance. Not so with all the humans. She discovered that some people displayed aggressive, even brutal characters, yet when she sunk beneath these layers of hardness she found a soft pain within, like that of a child whose toys had been broken and could not be fixed. Others who appeared so large and powerful as they gave orders or sneered at their fellow villagers were often crumpled and ashamed inside. Others who were quiet and subdued in their daily lives were sometimes seething with rage beneath their placid exterior, or frozen in a state of fear. Some people smiled their way through the whole day yet inside she found deep pools of watery sadness which she could have swum in for miles.

The feral girl also discovered how diversely the villagers felt about the world around them. She had assumed that all creatures could sense the ebb and flow of life, be moved by its rhythms and feel the fine connecting threads that wove their way between everything. She could tell that some of the villagers experienced this; when she peeked into their inner world she saw swirls of light, shade and colour all dancing together. But some of the humans felt very differently. There was a gap in the thread between them and the world which made their relationship to it subtlety different. They were active within it, and smart too, but their action was all action; they were constantly doing things to it. The feral girl marveled at their invention; some of the results of their doing were a wonder to behold. But she could not understand how they could live without being able to just be in the world. Were they lacking something? Or was she the one lacking the openness to see they were just different from her and the life she had so far experienced?

She understood now why she had felt so disorientated when she first encountered the villagers. Never before had she come across creatures with such marvelously varied ways of being, feeling, thinking and doing.

As time passed, the feral girl felt the threads of connection to each of the villagers growing inside her, weaving their way out of her body, pulsing through the air and flowing into each and every one of them. Her feelings were akin to her feelings for the wolves, birds, bears and butterflies. Something stirred in her being; she wanted to reach out to the villagers, but she was not sure how. Although she had come to know them intimately they still scared her. Some scared her because she felt so small in comparison to them while others scared her because she feared what they might do to her if she revealed herself to them.

So she decided to creep into the villagers’ lives at night to leave them little tokens. She left each one a white flower on their pillow as they slept. She danced around them weaving silken movements in the air to connect with their dreaming minds. She whispered to them of her life in the forest to share her life with theirs. Over time, her tokens of white flowers were remarked on by the villagers. Some people treasured these mysterious gifts, others gave a knowing smile thinking they had guessed who left them, others were angry that someone had crept into their hut at night without their knowledge. But no one guessed the truth, no one remembered the feral girl’s midnight dance or her softly whispered words. No one sensed her presence among them.

Except one…

The old man with the white beard and hair, and the young blue eyes that sparkled like sunlight on ocean waves, had been waiting patiently for her. For three months he had watched her, smiling to himself at her antics and knowing that soon, very soon she would arrive to study him. At last she came to his home, the last dwelling in the village, to complete her studies, little knowing that she was about to learn lessons which would surpass anything she had ever learnt before…

The old man was about to affect the life of both the feral girl and the villagers in as sure but gentle a way as water can affect the hardest immutable rock…

TO READ CHAPTER 4 CLICK HERE!

It had seemed a day almost like any other. Almost, but not quite. It began as her days usually began, with sunlight and stretching and dancing her way through the woods. But today the feral girl decided to wander further, to go to the edge of her known world and venture beyond. What led her to do so she did not really know and did not question. A feeling guided her and she simply followed.

She walked, danced, ran and walked again for the whole of the day. That night she curled up to sleep amongst a tangle of roots at the foot of a friendly tree. The next day she continued, and the next and the next. It was on the fifth day of her wanderings that she came upon them.

It happened quietly and calmly enough. She sensed their presence long before she arrived at the village. There was a difference in the air and a difference in the ground beneath her feet; not anything tangible but a subtle shift of energy. The animals were aware of them, that she could tell, and the trees acknowledged the presence of something other.

So she was not surprised when she came to the edge of a clearing and saw in the space beyond strange shapes and even stranger creatures.

The feral girl knew how to approach unknown things. She sat at the edge of the clearing, just hidden in the shade of the trees and tangle of undergrowth. She sat and she watched and she listened and she felt. She sat in that spot all day. That night she crept a little further away and found a sturdy tree to climb and sleep safely on, nestled amongst its branches. The next day she returned to take up her position on the edge of the clearing and sat watching some more. The following day she did the same.

And so it continued. For five weeks of human time the feral girl lived a life of quiet, calm, hidden, vigilant watching. Some days it rained, some days the sun shone, some days brought huge thunderstorms which sent the villagers running for shelter and left the feral girl crouched into hollowed tree trunks. She drank from a nearby stream when necessary and ate of the plants in the area which she knew tasted good. She moved around and watched from different places. She got to know the whole of the village and the area around it. She found all the tracks left by the villagers as they left and entered. She began to be able to tell each inhabitant apart and to know their daily activities. And each night she slept somewhere safe where she knew none would find her.

What were her thoughts as she lived her life of spying? What did she feel to see these beings so obviously physically like herself? If anyone had asked her these questions she would not have known how to answer. She did not quite know what she thought and certainly did not know what she felt.

Before now she had not considered the existence of others such as her, she simply was and others simply were not. Now, that loosely held belief had changed irrevocably. She could tell they were the same animal as herself. She only had to look at her hands or see her reflection in the stream to know the truth of this. Others such as her did exist and here they were in front of her.

But although these creatures were so undeniably her kin, she did not feel connected to them. For her whole life she had felt intimately in touch with everything around her, from flower to bear to mountain. She never had to think about this connection, never had to question it, it was just there. These beings were completely alien to her and she had no idea what to think or feel about that.

The more she watched, the more perplexed and uncertain she became. The humans lived a life so different to hers she couldn’t grasp it. Their lives were intertwined with one another and enmeshed in such habits and structures that she did not understand. Each person seemed to have a role to play, but how this role was decided or how each person knew their role was unclear. In some ways the people of the village did similar things to her; they awoke, they ate and drank, they hunted and found food, they slept at night in their strangely shaped dwellings which resembled caves. But it was much more ordered than her existence, much more planned, as if the people were following an invisible guidebook on how to live their daily lives.

Without this guidebook to refer to the feral girl felt lost and bewildered. But she persevered with her studies. Over time she began to understand their language and this gave her a more detailed glimpse into their world. The language itself came remarkably easily, as if maybe she had learnt it long ago but had since forgotten it. Less easy was understanding all the nuances, tone of voice and body language which accompanied the spoken words. The feral girl was an expert on reading the physicality of all things but the difficulty lay in the incongruence which she observed. A person may say one thing while their body clearly told a different story; why was this and which should she believe?

Those five weeks were full of many perplexing questions for the feral girl. And at the end of that time she had more questions than answers and more confusion of thought and feeling than clarity. Her world felt fractured and complicated in a way she had never experienced before. This was an uncomfortable feeling for her. But the feral girl was patient, tenacious and incurably inquisitive. Something kept her there, some underlying feeling that told her she could not leave now after having just discovered this strange new world. Without really consciously deciding it, the feral girl knew she would stay for longer.

So stay she did, with more far reaching consequences than she could possibly have realised…

TO READ CHAPTER 3 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl did not know who her parents were. In fact, for quite a while she did not really know what parents were, at least from a human perspective.

She knew that some animals had parents; she watched the wolf cubs at play with their mum and dad, and with aunts and uncles too. She knew the lives of the birds intimately and observed how the parents reared their chicks, tirelessly bringing them food each and every day. And she knew many other young animals in the forest whose parents were present in their lives. But then there were those animals where parents did not feature; they were simply absent. She watched the butterflies in particular and saw how they learned to fly by themselves with no guidance, and how even in their younger days during their caterpillar state they simply got on with munching the leaves with no one to show them how.

She did not spend much time thinking about parents or wondering if she had ever had any; she simply assumed she was of the butterfly variety where parents did not appear in the picture. She was, she thought, perfectly content with her life. It was hers, it was all she knew, she would not even know what to wish for if asked to consider what other life she might want. She was wild and free and alive, that was enough.

The feral girl lived in the forest, although from there she could roam far and wide so that the valley, river, lake, meadows and mountains could also be called her home. She cared for her world deeply. The animals knew her smell and deemed her friend not foe. Even the plants, especially the trees, held in their sap a knowledge of her gentleness. Of course she had to eat, and would do so freely be that plant or animal. But she did so with care, respect and gratitude. Every being in the forest understood the unwritten laws of life; that for the whole to be maintained, individuals must give up their lives for one another. There was no recrimination in this, no sense of injustice; it was simply as life was. Even the plants who could magically turn the sun’s energy into life-giving nourishment, understood the law and their vital role within it.

So she ate, she slept in whichever burrow, cave or tree she found herself at and she roamed the land, learning all she could from it. She knew all the animals; their habits, their characters, their lives from start to finish. She spent many happy days and evenings playing with the wolf cubs, telling stories to the owls and dancing with the moths. She knew all the plants and their slower more subtle life processes. She would move among them feeling their heartbeat-like pulsing of sap and allowing their quiet rhythms to undulate within her own body.

She felt the forest’s ebb and flow of energy, its uniquely dark and quiet presence, its whisperings of secrets. She talked to the river as it flowed and sparkled along its path, exchanging stories of the world upstream and down. She let the lake hold her, soothe her, and give her its silken, cleansing caress. She leapt for joy in the meadows, allowing the energy of the tall grasses to move her body as if she were a reed of grass herself, and opening herself to the sun and the sky just as the flowers taught her. She was one with the mountains, standing on their proud peaks and allowing herself to be as solid and still as they, her awareness slowing down as she felt their memory stretching back a million years to a time when they were laid flat on the ocean floor.

She breathed as the world breathed, flowed as life flowed and existed at peace with everything around her. Every day was new to her and she would study the clouds and patterns of weather with careful attention and interest. The nights did not scare her, but held her within their mysterious and dark gloved hands, leading her into the dream-world, encouraging her body to rest and renew. Every season was a delight, from the freshness and purity of spring, to the bright joyfulness and abundance of summer, the glow and generosity of autumn, and the sleepy mini-death of winter.

She was content. And maybe she would have remained her whole lifetime in this lonesome, feral existence if her wanderings had not one day brought her to the edge of a tiny village and a big new world of humans…

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