28/07/2015
Buddha Frog/Avi Shtevi
I remember the pond, even now. Those were some of the best moments of my life. I didn’t know it at the time though. Back then it was simply going fishing with dad. Waking up early was really hard and sometimes he literally had to drag me out of bed. We’d get dressed, get the tackle and gear, and get into the car. I remember looking up and seeing stars in the sky, wondering why the fish had to choose such a stupid time to get caught. I looked at my dad with tired, red eyes and ask him for the hundredth time why we had to go at such an hour.
“you gotta get them when it’s quiet and dark. As soon as it gets too bright out they hide and we won’t catch a single trout.” With that we clambered into the car and drove off.
I heard this explanation a dozen times at least and it made sense to me. Heck, I even heard it on those fishing shows we’d watch together, but the funny thing was that no matter how many times we went fishing, never once did we catch anything. We’d sit by the mossy pond, holding our rods for a few hours, talk a bit, but mostly just sit and wait. On the way home we’d stop at a fish shop and my dad would buy a few nice trout and wink. I’d smile and attempt to wink back, but never quite succeeded. He’d smile and we’d get home and show off our ‘catch’.
Well, this time things didn’t look any different. We quietly got out of the car, got our things, and carefully walked to the small, rickety pier. The wood was slowly rotting and you had to be careful where to step and where to sit down. One year I crashed right through a plank and my dad laughed loudly and helped me out of the slimy water. He told me he was sure I scared all the fish away, but he helped me change (we always kept extra clothes in the car, just in case), and we stayed there all day and waited for the fish that never showed up. That time I felt guilty about not catching anything, but over time I realized this was the normal course of events and that the only thing I scared that morning was myself.
We found a safe spot and sat down on the damp planks, feet swinging above the water. My dad fixed my rod and added some bait, and then handed it to me. He got his ready and then we both carefully lowered our hooks into the water.
And we sat.
And sat.
After a few hours my dad took out his shiny silver thermos and poured us out some coffee. Mom said I was too young to drink, but my dad said that since fishing was manly work that I could have some too. It tasted hot and sweet. Until this very day I never tasted better coffee. Many years later I asked him why the coffee tasted so good and he simply told me it was because he made it with love.
We sipped our coffee, and my dad whispered a few stories about his time in the army, the wars he was in, the old gang. Suddenly I saw it. I pointed to the center of the pond and said “Dad! Look!” He shushed me but looked over to where I was pointing. There was a big bullfrog peaking out of the water, looking calm and collected. I was stunned because by that point I honestly thought there was not a single living thing in that boggy pond.
My dad smiled and told me I should look at the frog carefully, that he could teach me an important lesson. Curious, I watched the frog and wondered what I could possibly learn from a bog-frog. I chuckled at that term I had invented inside my head. My dad shushed again and pointed. “Just watch…”
So I put my cup down, and loosely held on to my rod, and watched the frog. I noticed his brilliant green skin, shimmering from a thin coating of greasy pond water. His eyes, his breathing, his expression, were completely placid, just slow breathing and eyes staring ahead into space. I wondered what my dad was trying to show me. I waited for a movement, a neat trick, perhaps a long tongue flicking out and catching an unlucky fly. But no, nothing at all, breathing and watching.
Slowly the Sun started to rise and I could see the changing colors as they reflected off the pond. I knew that this meant something, that the oncoming daylight would bring change. I looked even more intently at the frog, anxiously waiting for it to happen.
The Sun’s rays blinded me for an instant and my heart skipped a beat. This was it, it had to be! I squinted, held my breath and didn’t take my eyes off the frog.
Nothing- not a single movement from the lazy animal. I looked at my dad in despair and asked him when it was going to happen. He smiled a tender smile and told me that I shouldn’t expect anything, that that was not the point. He saw the troubled look on my face and finally took pity on me and explained.
The frog is just there. See it sitting there, in the water? It’s completely calm and at ease in his world. He literally owns the pond, the air and the sky. It’s all his. He doesn’t have to do anything or prove anything to anyone. He is lord and master of all of it. In his way he was discovered oneness with his universe.
Do you ever ask yourself why we come to this pond, year after year, when it is by now obvious that there are no fish here? The point isn’t to do, but rather to be. I need some time to be with you, to be around you. In this way, we too own this pond. We don’t come to take anything from it, rather, like that frog, we sit here and simply are. There is no other moment in time, in our lives. Truth is about now, about you and me, this frog, that coffee, and this magical place.
He leaned over and kissed my forehead, and to this very day I remember that instant with incredible clarity; I was completely there at that instant, and my love for him, for that place, for the frog and for all of it simply overwhelmed me.
On the way back we stopped and bought a few fish, and I smiled and winked, and it finally happened – a perfect wink. I smiled proudly and my dad laughed and told me that I was finally a man.
The end
