Free Valley of Flowers by Chris Collins Page A

Nicolas
feared his game might forever be thrown off kilter, if indeed he
went ahead with this plan to attack.
     
    He peered at the ball resting atop
the tee. Nicolas looked at the clubhead
hovering behind it. At first the club and ball appeared hopeful. They seemed to stare back. He wondered if these
two were poking fun or if this situation was even real. He saw the ball and club give
each a curious look. He heard in his head the ball say to the
3-wood, Who is this one with
the special needs and what is he waiting for?
     
    Another
comment came to like kick him in the rear. N ext he imagined the flight of the one
he would sometime hit. Nicolas held the club
that appeared to want nothing more than to get going. He drew his well known
inner-perception lines. He repeated this until the actual hitting of the ball was likely
to get lost in all the line-sailing.
     
    He put away his sketchbook mind . Nicolas focused on his fourth,
fifth, sixth address over the ball, which proved also to be just
teasing.
     
    "Come on, baby doll," he said, forcing in
some lightness.
     
    Nicolas joked but took serious note of his
inordinate delay in getting started here . He made
out he was like any Indian cinema star. He pretended to be waiting
for the right script to come along before acting on the
song-and-dance picture project. He told himself, Either
resign, retire altogether , or get on with it, sweetness.
     
    Normally he had his school chums along for
the ride as his strongest supporters , however Nicolas was no longer in any mood for the glad-happy
chatter from the attaboys.
     
    He chanced becoming more miffed with himself
if he did not take the shot soon. He told himself to be more alone
inside. Nicolas spoke again and again to The Protector of the
Masses Lake. He wanted
some assurances. He shifted his weight to be more on his right
foot. The difference can be measured in minute grams. Nicolas thought things were about to get going.
Opposition to this mounted.
     
    More challenge came when he released his
grip to shake off a stiff hand. The gross hold up in his play
seemed all set to continue. He gazed at the ball. Nicolas looked
hell-bent on discovering its beginning and end. He turned to peer
at the days-are-numbered crowd. He looked for what he thought might
be the last time at the spoken-to, spoken-to cushion of wet that
was the small lake.
     
    Yeah, I know! he yelled in his head. Hitting into
the lake is not my usual intention , I got that!
     
    Peripherally he saw Arjuna shift some. He
envisioned the old man kick a pebble or two out of impatience.
Nicolas heard him clear his throat as to speak more. It occurred to
him then to hurry. He feared Arjuna
m ight take advantage of
his stalled situation. He thought the old man m ay accept this chance to offer up more of his wisdom, or perceived bit of
vague talk.
     
    Nicolas Kumar explored this idea more and his fears rose. Thought - patterns as these gathered. They
leapt onto this one reality.
     
    "Now if you are to swing sometime today,"
said Arjuna, "and the ball strikes that tree there and bounces
back, the ball coming to rest a step or two behind you, is this not
a progress? The shot is not forgiven, yes? No, I do not think it
is, and it should not be .
A nd I hope they never change the rule. It is a progress.
It's a progress in disguise. I did not see it myself for quite a while , but I wholeheartedly believe it
is. Maybe along your way you will encounter a retracing step. Is
this not a progress? Do your duty then, to the best of your
abilities, for others and for yourself. Do so without selfish
motive. Remember, before starting work or at the completion of some
task, or even now while standing so inactive, do not think of God
as one and you another, as God is in All, performing joyfully.
Begin by understanding this. You can learn to respect this truth by
repeated prayer. Practice looking upon all creatures as if they are
you, in thought, word and deed. In recognition of this