“You know, Eric, once upon a time an old friend told me,
“You can tell how many seeds there are in an apple,
But you can't tell how many apples there are in a seed.
“So, I’m telling you both, never underestimate the help in the seeds of hope that you are bringing to your clients.”
We thanked Andy for his encouraging words, and soon after we said goodbye for the day and headed back to the hotel for a late afternoon nap.
Chapter Thirteen
The Oneness of Life
Emily had strongly encouraged us to see the old village of Cockington, saying that it was reputed to be one of England’s most picturesque, so we decided to spend our last full day there, and invited Emily and Andy to join us on our visit to see the sights. They eagerly accepted our invitation and we made arrangements to meet at the blacksmith’s shop at eleven o’clock.
We arrived early at the small parking lot, found a shady space for the car and followed the signs toward a group of stone cottages. We were pleasantly surprised to see horse-drawn carriages ready to take visitors around the manicured grounds, but we chose to walk through the village toward the blacksmith’s shop. We were entranced by the fact that every house and shop had a thatched roof, which, we later discovered, each bore the proud signature of the tradesman who had done the job. A design cut along the roof-ridge or a bird modeled from thatch at the comer identified the thatcher.
A feeling of timelessness overtook us, creating an illusion of walking through an 18th-century novel. We revelled in the beauty of the village and grounds of the manor house that had existed for 500 years and more. The grand old house, with its parks and gardens, was imbued with a sense of privilege. With time suddenly in slow motion, we felt no need to hurry, even though we eagerly anticipated our meeting with Andy and Emily, especially knowing this would be the last time we’d see them before we had to fly back to the States.
We had no difficulty locating the old blacksmiths shop where they were already waiting for us. There was an unbelievable feeling about the place that no words could express, a feeling of age and tranquility and the wonder of countless lives, each with its own joys and sorrows, lived out in this beautiful setting. I looked over at Janet and she was absolutely beaming. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by an intense longing, wishing Norma could be here to share this experience.
Then I heard Janet exclaim excitedly, “Look, there’s a set of medieval stocks!” She immediately insisted on having her picture taken in them. Emily assisted her to get into the instrument of punishment. Once she was seated with hands and feet and head held firmly in place by the heavy wooden stocks, laughing uproariously, Janet had us take several pictures of her. Then both Janet and Emily insisted it was my turn to be held prisoner in the stocks, so reluctantly I gave in and Janet snapped several incriminating photos.
Nearby, we discovered a delightful little openair restaurant where we decided to have lunch. From the seating area a lush lawn ran down toward a fish pond set amidst tall rushes and a ring of bright flowers. Within an open-sided gazebo that stood between us and the pond a quartet of smiling teenage girls played baroque music. Listening to them, I felt that I was in the middle of some mystical dream; never had I felt so tranquil or at peace. I just wanted to enjoy the good space I was in. As we lingered over our meal, the quartet finished their performance and was heartily applauded by an appreciative audience that had gathered in and around the restaurant.
After completing our lunch with “a good strong cuppa tea” and a rich trifle dessert, we decided to continue our exploration of the village and wandered on. The afternoon sun glowed on the old ivy-covered stone cottages, while the sound of water splashing through the wooden water wheel provided a soothing background to the peaceful setting. An enormous variety of trees, everything from ancient oaks and beeches to graceful willows, dotted the grounds, huge rhododendrons lined one side of the winding drive, and many imported specimen trees stood in solitary splendor in the park, carefully positioned by generations of owners so that their beauty and rarity could readily impress visiting gentry. The former manor house, now devoted to craft demonstrations, had a huge, walled rose garden containing a fragrant collection of old and new varieties. Nearby, mossy gravestones around the stone church bore witness to past residents of the village, at rest under more rhododendron bushes and sweet-smelling lilacs. I wondered what stories they had to tell and what sights had been seen over the centuries in this quiet comer of England. We had stopped to rest on a bench, when the clip clop of horses’ hooves caught our attention. Two gleaming chestnut horses were being led back to the stables, where they would be groomed and given a well-earned rest until their next tour of duty
Janet remarked, “This has to be one of the most heavenly places I’ve ever seen. It’s just occurred to me,” she confided, “that this would be a perfect place to have my honeymoon.”
We sat quietly, just absorbing the splendor of our surroundings. I thought to myself, “For all the times you may see England on television, it can't possibly prepare you for the real McCoy.” The age of many of the buildings fascinated me. Seeing houses that were built before the Mayflower left for America gave me goose bumps.
Emily and Andy and I settled on the park bench while Janet spread her sweater to sit on the newly mowed lawn. For quite some time Janet and I mused aloud about what had happened in our lives to make them seem so new and wonderful. We watched the horses and carts filled with holiday makers go by, then for some inexplicable reason, I asked Andy a question that I’m sure has been asked since the beginning of time.
“What do you think life is?”
To my surprise, he answered, “Life is whatever you think it is.”
“That may be so, Andy, but what do you, personally, think it is?”
Andy thought for a moment, then replied. “I would say,
“Life as we know it is one gigantic ball of energy,
Whether inform or formless.”
“Is that your answer?” I asked, amazed by Andy’s short, simplistic answer.
“That’s it,” he replied.
“Would you elucidate for me, Andy. Why do you describe life the way you do?”
“Do you remember, Eric, I once told you that this physical world stems from a formless energy that exists before time, space and matter?”
“Yes I do, but I didn’t quite understand that, and I would love to hear you explain what you meant, once more.”
Andy looked at me, at Janet, then back at me, apparently considering his response. Janet and I eagerly awaited his reply. Then he finally said, “When the formless energy of which I speak joins this physical reality, we call it matter. However, regardless of the form it has taken in this life, it is still the same formless spiritual energy—but in countless disguises.”
Confused by Andy’s reply, Janet just sat and looked puzzled for some minutes. Then sheepishly she admitted, “I still don’t get the concept of a formless energy. Do you mean formless like electricity?”
“No, not at all Janet. Electricity is of this world and has a form. The formless energy I speak of is not of this world.”
“I think your theory of formless energy is very interesting,” Janet said, “but such a theory is quite abstract and could never be proven. After all, how can anyone prove that such a thing as formless energy exits?”
The old gardener smiled and agreed with Janet that it would be impossible to prove the existence of such energy. “So in answer to your question,” he replied, “it can’t.”