Thursday, 26 September 2013

Tuesday, September 24th, 2013

Finding Your Apple Tree

Brampton, Ontario

When I trek through the villages of the prairies just on this last ventures, I sought to meet people.  And, for the sake of replenishing energy, I also kept my eyes on the trees of the village in hope to at least spot an apple tree.  It’s that time of year that this hearty fruit comes up for harvest.  A lesson on detachment often came my way because trees for wind and snow shelter is common around at a person’s house.  But that’s the prairies, you’re lucky to find apples.

Now that I’ve arrived in a quite different environment, vegetationally and perhaps culturally also, farmer’s apple trees planted from the days of yore were in the plenty in the Heart Lake area of Brampton.  There were multiple varieties.  Rajnish, Alpa and I took to the edge of the lake for a stroll only to be richly rewarded with these fleshy and tasty packages of mercy.

Things looked up throughout the day.  I signed papers for a 2 year lease to a building, the new location of our Brampton community for future occupancy right in the downtown core.  This is a victory of course.

I also could not help to sense another stroke of optimism in the air when later on in the day I veered to the quite Rosedale neighbourhood on a second solo walk near downtown Toronto.  In front of me a young man was singing a song to himself as he was striding several metres ahead of me.  I first heard him as we ambled on a bridge overlooking the ravine.  I admit I was drawn to the song, but I couldn’t discern the genre of music.  Then I concluded that it was like a lullaby, it was that mystical time of day at dusk.  And as I picked up speed with the anticipation of hearing more clearly, it seemed that he did also.  He was dark, either black or east Indian, he kept going on at it until he made a turn.  By then the sun had almost vanished, so I lost him.  It’s rare to hear someone sing to themselves for a prolonged time.  It was like a discovery moment.  A discovery which excites like coming upon an abandoned apple tree at Heart Lake.

I had turned a corner myself, making my way back to the ashram.  I greeted a guy and said, “How are you?”  His tone was terrible, in fact he blurted out the word, “Terrible.”

“What’s wrong?”  I stopped and asked, “Such extremes,” I thought.  I jumped from Mr. Happy Go Lucky to Mr. Grumps.

Mr. Grumps was beefing about clearing someone’s yard of unwanted shrubs and how he didn’t get paid.  I tried to cheer him up, but it appeared that the chip on his shoulder was a heavy chunk.

I hope he finds his apple tree.

9 KM

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