THE WIND, THE ROCK AND TIME.
By
Zeenath Jahan

Time had just been born and it was decided by the Power that every thing would have to choose its own place in Time. Since it was part of its’ nature, Time grew apace, stopping for a short time, only when it saw a beautiful sunset or a dew encrusted rose or other things of beauty that took its breath away; but quickly collecting itself and remembering its mission Time would soon encapsulate everything in sight. 
Asked to choose its place in Time, the Rock decided it would remain Here, between the Sea and the Earth. Here was where the sun shone and the Sea sang its mysterious songs in the silence of moonlit nights. 

The Sea, on the other hand, stayed There; since all it ever wanted to do was to sing of the glories it had experienced. There is where it found the Past and the Present and the Future; and There is where all its songs came from.
The Earth preferred to lie Everywhere in Time. The Earth had many faces and in Everywhere it was able to change from bright to dark, from smiling to frowning, thus adding to its deep mystery. 

The rest of the world chose either to be There with the Sea or Everywhere with the Earth. 

Soon everyone had found their own place and settled down in their place in Time. Every one, that is, but the Wind. 
The Wind was furious. The Wind was powerful and knew its power well. The Wind could make the Sea laugh and cry; the Wind could change the face of the Earth until it was invisible under its fury. The Wind refused to be chained to one spot, for no one could harness the Wind, and so it laughed in the face of Time saying, 

“I have always been Here and There; I have always been Everywhere. No one has the power to tie me down to one spot. You do not have my power to swirl over the sea and the earth; you do not have the power to wear away the rock. You merely plod along your path!” 

Time, powerless Time plodded its path and slid between Here and There and was Everywhere too. The Wind soon found that it could either be Here, or There or Everywhere in Time. Soon it knew it had to make a choice, but the choice was already made for it! 

The Wind became more and more furious, raging and gnashing its icy teeth and blowing its fiery breath that scorched everything in sight. Ripping up and tearing down, burning and freezing whatever came in its way thinking to itself in a raging fury that, “That newborn babe Time will never tell me, the mighty Wind, what to do! The very cheek!”
The Wind howled and raged, diving deep, deep into the Sea while the foaming Sea jumped out of its way, rising up, up to the Sky. Then the Wind flew high, high above the clouds chasing them over the face of the Sky, howling with rage. But, no matter what it did, it could never be Here and There and Everywhere, Time kept sliding in between.  Uncaring Time plodded on. Time was winning the battle for only Time could be Here and There and Every Where. 

Licking its wounds and exhausted, the Wind rested a while. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief thinking the Wind had spent its fury and was finally tamed, finally finding its’ place in Time. But it only seemed so.  For deep within the heart of the Wind there still raged a fury at being thwarted by plodding, ever present Time. Every now and then the Wind’s control weakened against the battering fury within and it poured out in rage, dashing Here and There, trying to catch Time out. But Time always stood in between; and Time always won!

Marveling at its fury, its strength and its power, the unmoving Rock watched the roaring Wind dash about. Each time the Wind roared and raged the Rock raised its face to feel the Wind while the Sea boiled over singing louder and louder to drown the angry tones of the shrieking Wind. The foaming Sea boiled over running from There to Here; desperate to get away from the rage of the Wind, washing over the face of the Rock, wetting it and scratching it with its salty brine. Clinging on to Here and the Rock fighting the power of the Wind. Gradually the Rock wore away from the salty brine becoming smaller and smaller, wearing away in the struggle between the Sea and the Wind. But no one noticed. The Rock was just an immovable Rock that was Here. The battle continued.

The Rock felt each particle break away. Each tiny particle that wore away rejoiced in the raging battle; fascinated, mesmerized and sometimes terrified by the Power of the Wind. All it could offer the Wind were the tiny particles of its Self; particles eroded by the teary, salty brine. It gladly gave up a part of its Self for the Wind to toss about, hoping the Wind would notice its gift; wishing the Wind might find pleasure and respite in its’ gift in the terrible battle it raged with Time. 

Although the Wind enjoyed the tickle and tumble as it poured over the Rock; although it enjoyed tossing the particles of the Rock from Here to There, it was too furious to really notice the Rock. It did not notice the stationary, solid Rock with its face turned up in joy and love giving a part of itself to the Wind. The Wind did not see the Rock bracing itself, waiting patiently for the Wind to rush over it, rippling through the pits and grooves gouged out by the salty brine. 
On moonlit nights while listening to the Sea humming its mysterious songs the solid, stationary, unmoving Rock played an imaginary game with itself. A game in which the Wind would one day notice the Rock and feel the love irradiating, pouring out of its every groove, and the Wind would take notice the Rocks offering of its Self, particle by particle to the Wind. In the imaginary game, the Wind would finally come to rest in shade of the Rock; pouring itself over the Rock in play and joy, always and forever. 

But this was only an imaginary game the Rock played with itself, for the Wind never noticed the Rock. The Rock was too insignificant and its offerings too paltry in the mighty battle being raged above. The Wind was too angry to feel anything but rage at being caged; the Wind was too fearful of Time’s bars closing in on it; and so it did not feel the warmth of the silent Rock’s love. The Rock loved on, unnoticed, unappreciated, unloved; watching the wind roar and howl Here and There and Everywhere.

All the while Time plodded on. Ignoring the Wind, ignoring the Rock, and everything else in sight; concentrating only on in its journey. Time had a serious, important job to do. Time had to complete its journey to the end of the road before it could finally stand still and rest. The only thing of any importance was reaching its destination so it could finally stop and rest.

Every battle between the Wind and Time made the Sea surge with impatience at being interrupted in its song. Each time the Sea surged in its effort to get away from the Wind, the salty briny tears scratched the Rock and bit by bit the Rock eroded until there was nothing was left but one tiny little speck. 

When the battle was taken up again, rushing past the place where the Rock had stood the Wind tossed up the tiny little speck that was all that remained of the Rock and threw it at plodding Time. Carried on the back of Time, embedded in Time the Rock searched for the Wind. But the sandy beach lay empty. The Rock that was Here was no more Here, having given up its last little speck to the Wind to toss about at will. The Rock disappeared with Time. 

Yet, the Rock was happy, the Wind had touched it one last time. The Wind had been close, the Wind had touched it, and that was all that really mattered to the Rock.

One day, raging over the sandy beach the Wind rushed Here and There, but found the plain, smooth sandy beach boring. For some strange reason there was no more excitement in rushing about. Nothing tickled it. Nothing warmed it. Here was an empty nothingness. The Wind wondered what had changed and stopped for a moment, all thought of the battle with Time forgotten. The Wind sighed about gradually dying down to a soft murmur as it lay on the sandy beach wondering why the battle wasn’t fun any more. The Sea sang on of Love and Light and of Hope and Delight. Finally, the Wind asked the Sea what had changed on the sandy beach, and why it was not fun any more to rush about it. 

‘What was Here is no more,’ sighed the Sea dropping a drop of salty brine on the Winds upturned face.

‘What was it that was Here and is no more?’ Asked the Wind, perplexed by the Sea’s inscrutable answer and its’ salty tears.

But the Sea spoke no more; instead it sent up a cloud that rained its fresh tears down on the face of the uncomprehending Wind.

The Wind had never noticed the Rock when it was Here. For when the Rock was Here it did not really matter. There were other things that occupied the Wind, other more important things such as its battle with Time. The Wind hadn’t noticed the small things in its path that had made rushing over the beach so much pleasure and now even the tiny little speck that was left of the Rock was gone, embedded in Time, always and forever. 

17th July 2001 (Hobson House. Saco, Maine USA)