One
flip of the page and you might find a very intrepid little girl called
Goldilocks, a mischievous little adventurer who explores everything between
absence and natural pleasure. In a
forest called Noia where all the empty spaces left behind in the real world are
filled-up with earth and foliage, Goldilocks comes upon a dear little cottage.
The little cottage was bursting with
character. Adornments and embellishments raced to be where they were not; then other
objects took their place. They moved about in countless configurations,
reducing their sum into tiny bits of purity. The desire to enter this dwelling
so fervently felt, that Goldilocks forgot herself for a moment; pushed open the
door and went inside.
The cottage was in a state of
perpetual existence; quaint and pretty on the inside, a reflection of the
constantly shifting shingles and windowsills on the outside. Goldilocks could
not imagine a time in the future when she would not desire the happiness she
felt while inside this little cottage.
Just then, she noticed three bowls of
enchanting porridge sitting up upon the table; proof, she thought, of the perpetual
existence of human desire.
Feeling a bit peckish, Goldilocks
dipped a Golden spoon into the biggest bowl of all… and took a bite.
“Ouch!”
she cried. “That porridge is far too hot!”
Goldilocks stood there, thinking an
infinite number of thoughts about the nature of hot porridge.
This
steaming bowl of porridge will forever be dear to me
It taught me that things are not what they seem
And
often times completely off ~ far away from our view
The moment that porridge touched my lips
Endless sensations swirled, until they were quiet again
My heart leaped, but I was not afraid
The wind came, caressing its way across my cheek
I blushed not!
Then I called to mind a second bowl
Sitting and gazing back up at me
The sense of exploration enveloped me
An immensity of new thoughts arose
From this sweet cold upon my mouth
Goldilocks thought her way back to
the table where the medium-sized bowl of porridge proudly sat. No wonder the
chair was so still, she retorted to herself.
The velvet-lined seat of pleasure
was in a perpetual state of transfixedness, forever associated with beauty by
all who gaze upon it; but fabric wrinkles and creases, and those who once found
delight upon her cloth are now immensely tired of it. They sought to abandon it,
to search for other, more imminently pleasing pieces of furniture. Three legs
or four, raised or lowered, reclining or upright ~ they leap … and land on the
footrest, a poor substitute for a chair.
We are in the beginning of this
story, in which, as Goldilocks says of her adventure, we abandon earlier
pleasures for ones that are more difficult. Acolytes of the ‘grass on the other
side of the meadow being greener’, we call to mind again how we felt when we
first gazed upon that initial bowl or porridge in the hopes of experiencing
happiness, which is itself a passion. Filling the experience with all that we
have inside ourselves, the shock that came upon us after we discovered that it
was not what we thought it would be tore through our insides, tears rose
beneath our eyelids and we wept. Full of travail, our thoughts were instantly
still.
The moment changed ~ and yet,
remembering it, kept it there. Reckoning up the cycles of sorrow at having
burned her tongue on that sultry intensity that stings its recipients with a
vehemence known when in the throws of enthusiasm and excitement, Goldilocks
wondered, just exactly WHO would serve
porridge so biting hot?
Then she reminded herself that it
was she who took that bite, unaided and coaxed not. In that split-second,
Goldilocks realized that the pain only endured when she thought of what caused
it. Could she move on and enjoy other porridge without thinking upon this bowl
again? Would it serve her to keep her mind ablaze, smoldering with regret and
resentment for having tasted something before it was ready to be eaten?
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she shouted,
but no one was there to hear her lament.
Goldilocks felt herself feeling
quite flustered. Oddly enough, she was feeling obsessed and consumed by a
feverish desire to return to the glow of the flame from that first, highly
unfortunate bite. Right then, she felt something drop! She looked around but
all was still. She looked inside herself and saw that it was her happiness that
had fallen to the ground. “I wonder if this has anything to do with my continuing
to think about hot porridge?”
With that thought, Goldilocks fell
deeply quiet. Her mind felt void, yet it was filled with indifference. “This is
not terrible, neither is it enjoyable!” she bellowed. “It drowns in its own
noise, sings in infinite silence, and fashions everything it desires far away from
its view. No wonder it is cold.”
Then her thoughts mingled again. “Can a hot bowl of porridge or a cold bowl of
porridge yield anyone pleasure? Surely they must, and then again, they might
not.”
Goldilocks wondered how to solve the
riddle she was creating for herself. “A clue seems to be in the anticipation,”
she concluded, “either of the same, better, or worse to come. It is in the
search for the sublime that we dare to identify ourselves with the heroic
flower, the lover of decadent places that are abandoned by the world.”
Converting purity of diction to the
next metaphoric experience, Goldilocks noticed a very small bowl that she had
not seen before. With the other two bowls conveniently pushed out of the way,
Goldilocks dipped her Golden spoon into the last and littlest bowl of porridge.
Within moments, her hunger vanished and she found herself growing very content,
and then sleepy.
Making her way up the stairs in
search of a soft place upon which she could rest her head, Goldilocks was greeted
by three little beds. She lied down on the first one and immediately closed her
eyes in anticipation of a lovely sleep. Growing pale from the discomfort the
hardness of this unforgiving bed inflicted upon anyone daring to recline upon
it, Goldilocks took courage and moved over to the second. Assuring herself that
this bed would be different ~ because the pillows were soft and embroidered
with hummingbirds ~ Goldilocks bounced on the bed and instead of bouncing right
back up, nestled into a perfectly fine spot where she sunk uncomfortably so,
all the way down into the cushioned goodness ~ to the point she thought she
might disappear forever!
With all the strength she could
command of her arms, Goldilocks reached up and latched onto the side of the
headboard; pulling herself out of a material abyss, she glanced back, thinking
to herself how very deceiving one’s perceptions on something as innocuous as
fabrics can be.
Utterly exhausted and quite
dissatisfied with the amount of effort she was investing in such a simple act;
Goldilocks scanned the room for another opportunity to rest her brain. As she
did so, she noticed a little bed in the corner of the room; like the littlest
bowl of porridge, she had not noticed in the beginning. As Goldilocks stood, fretting over what lie in
store for her with this bed, she noticed a peculiar beam of light shinning down
upon it from the northwest skylight.
The duvet was simple; it was a light
cream-colored material adorned with daisies as unassuming as the corner where
the bed stood. “Maybe I can just rest here for a moment,” thought Goldilocks, and
she lied down upon the bed and immediately thereafter fell fast asleep.
While Goldilocks slept… the three
bears that lived in the Noian cottage returned.
Father Bear was too busy taking off
his boots to notice that the door was ajar. Mother Bear, as always, had her
hands full of flowers from their morning walk. It was Baby Bear who felt that
something didn’t quite ‘feel’ right.
“Something feels strange, Papa,”
said Baby Bear, looking around the room trying to figure out just what it was
that felt strange.
Papa Bear nodded, but did not lift
his head, as he was busy tightening a loose bolt on the entryway bench.
“Something feels off, Mama,” repeated
Baby Bear, redirecting his concern to his mother, who usually paid more attention
to what he had to say than did Papa Bear; but this time, Mama Bear was busy, too,
and when Mama Bear was busy all she would ever say is “Not now, Baby Bear. Can’t
you see Mama has her hands full?”
Knowing full well that Mama and Papa
Bear were not the least bit interested in what Baby Bear was wondering, he
decided to investigate on his own. “I don’t see anything unusual,” Baby Bear
said to himself, “but I know our cottage, and something does not abide, though
I do not know what that is.”
Baby Bear made his way into the
kitchen, where all Baby bears go for mid-morning snacks. Sitting on the table
right in front of him were the three bowls of porridge that Mama Bear left out
to cool while they gathered flowers in the woods. Just as Baby Bear started to
smile remembering that he had porridge waiting for him, he realized that
something was wrong with this scene.
He sniffed Papa Bear’s porridge and
smelled something sweeter than honey. He then smelled Mama Bear’s porridge and
smelled the very same sweet smell. Then when he leaned in to smell his own
porridge, he was surprised that it had no smell at all … for it was all gone!
“Mama Bear! Papa Bear!” Shouted Baby
Bear at the top of his lungs. “Someone has eaten my porridge!”
But Mama Bear and Papa Bear didn’t
hear Baby Bear clearly as he was shouting from deep inside the kitchen and the
sounds were a bit muffled by the time they arrived back to the front of the
cottage.
“That’s nice!” Shouted Mama Bear and
Papa Bear in unison, thinking Baby Bear was announcing that it was ‘he’ who had
eaten all of his porridge. In fact, Mama Bear looked up at Papa Bear who gave
her a satisfactory grin, for Baby Bear was a notoriously picky eater and often
times preferred berries to porridge.
“Our baby bear is growing up,”
proudly exclaimed Papa Bear.
“He sure is!” replied Mama Bear, and
they both went back to doing exactly what they had been doing before Baby Bear
interrupted them from their thoughts.
Baby Bear, who was a clever little
bear, knew that something, or someone, had to have eaten the porridge, and he
knew it wasn’t he. Just then, Baby Bear noticed some mud on the kitchen floor
that meandered all the way to the foot of the stairwell. He pusillanimously peeked
up the stairwell and, sure enough, the mud went all the way up to his family’s bedchamber.
Feeling rather brave and fearless from having defeated one the bravest mice in
Noia at a game of matching last week, he decided to continue his investigation.
Softly walking up the stairs so as
not to allow the wooden planks creak, Baby Bear made it all the way upstairs
without making a sound. Right away, he saw that Papa Bear and Mama Bear’s beds
were in disarray. Baby Bear trembled and felt his heart sink into his stomach
as if both were floating on a sea of soap.
Papa Bear’s bed was un-tucked,
something Papa Bear would never stand for. Mama Bear’s covers were hanging off
the side of her bed, something that would surely make her gasp at the sheer
horror of the situation! The mere idea of her beautiful duvet touching the
floor would have made Mama Bear kā aloud.
Without saying a word, Baby Bear
went over to Papa Bear’s bed and neatly tucked the covers back under the
headboard. He picked up the pillow and placed it right in the middle where Papa
Bear liked it. Then, Baby Bear pulled Mama Bear’s duvet up off the floor,
arranged it neatly, picked up all the pillows, as there were many, and placed
them neatly in the configuration Mama Bear liked best.
Right about the time Baby Bear
thought his work was all done, he heard a rustling coming from the corner of
the room. The impulse to run overcame him, but his feet stood firmly fixed as
if they were deeply devoted to that very spot.
Baby Bear looked up at the sunray
that shone down upon his bed. Little dust bunnies were floating and bouncing
into each other in the stream of light. It was winter and the light is
especially active in winter. Then Baby Bear smelled that same sweet smell he
had smelled in both Papa Bear and Mama Bear’s porridge bowls. A sense of heavy
harmonies grew in his heart for the smell was sweeter than the shape of music.
Even the air seemed eager to greet this new smell. The colors of the dust
bunnies soothed Baby Bear like a tune. They were green, gold, and red, with
flecks of yellow blowing between them.
Baby Bear looked down upon his bed
and saw a sweet little blonde girl, he knew it was a girl because Papa Bear had
told him bedtime stories about little humans who sometimes ventured into Noia
in search of something yummy to eat. Clearly, this little girl was one of them.
Imagine… his very own little human! The marvelous things they might do when she
wakes up, the exciting adventures they might have when they later go outside to
play, and the thrill they’d experience when climbing trees and feasting on honey
all the day, while gazing out over the hills of Noia.
“Hello?” whispered Baby Bear, trying
his very best not to startle the little girl. She did not move. “Hello, little
human,” said Baby Bear, just a bit louder than before but still quiet enough so
as not to frighten the little girl. Feeling himself growing tired and a little frustrated,
not to mention silly for whispering in the middle of the day, Baby Bear shouted,
“HELLO, HUMAN!”
And with that, Goldilocks leapt to
her feet, spinning herself back and forth trying to catch her bearings as to what
exactly was going on. “Am I dreaming?” she asked the little bear.
“I don’t think so,” replied Baby
Bear, wondering if perchance she might still be asleep even though he knew that
they were both most assuredly awake.
“Quite the verbal genius,” thought
Goldilocks, being a bit snarky after having been woken up so very rudely.
“Well, if I’m not asleep, and you
are really here, that means that I am the one who is trespassing and for this I
apologize… but the door was open and the porridge smelled so good that I simply
could not help myself. And then I felt sleepy, and as it was close to my nap
time, I decided to rest my head before leaving you a thank you note.”
Baby Bear listened intently.
Everything the little girl was saying made perfect sense to him as she was
saying it. “It’s perfectly fine,” replied Baby Bear, emulating his mother’s
most reassuring of voices; it was the same tone Mama Bear used with him when he
fell down or got a bee sting while trying to scoop out honey from beehives.
“Would you like to go downstairs
with me and meet Mama Bear and Papa Bear?” asked Baby Bear, eager to introduce
his new playmate to his parents.
Thinking that she had gotten herself
into a bit of a pickle, Goldilocks smiled and agreed. “I’ll just run away once
we get outside,” she thought, “this way they won’t end up eating me!”
Goldilocks can sometimes be the
wittiest critic for her mind immediately fixated on what she knew of bears: they
eat little children! Summing up the courage to go and pretend that she wanted
to meet Papa Bear and Mama Bear, Goldilocks slowly followed Baby Bear back down
the stairs, but the moment they reached the kitchen, she rushed out the side
door and ran and ran and ran until she came to a large fence on the outskirts
of Noia.
On the other side of the fence was a
field she recognized as her own. But before escaping underneath, she glanced
back over her shoulder and said with an air of disappointment:
Across,
asunder, a divided place
I
smiled, I rejoiced, and porridge I ate
But
friends with me, you cannot be
Because
Noia is filled with Medlar Trees
Medlar Trees, Cagnes (1908)
Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Private Collection
