The Essence of Incense [1 of 2]

A snarl and then the clicking of teeth. Collin looks up from his work and sees his son, Chris, put the fingers of his left hand into his mouth. “Did he bite you?” He is ready to jump up.
Chris shakes no, sucking his fingers. He pulled back in time.
“Why don't you give Iris a break?”
Chris takes his fingers out. “Because I want him to be my friend.” It sounds more like a reproach than a defence.
“What were you doing when Iris tried to bite you?” Collin knows exactly what his son did, but hopes the boy is man enough to say it.
“Nothing.” Chris looks away from his father. “I was just playing with him.”
“Is that all you were doing?”
“Yes Dad, all.” The child looks furtively at his father who has question marks lighting up in his eyes. Chris prefers to look at the midsized black dog. “Why do I have to have a he-dog with a girl's name?”
“Mrs. Reynolds doesn't think Iris is a girl's name. And all the puppies in the nest needed a name starting ...”
“... with an 'I'” Chris knows the rap. Can't let off, however. “But why Iris? Iris is a flower.”
“Yes. And a symbol for male power. The power of Wisdom, Optimism and Trust. It also stands for Passion and deeply felt Friendship. That's what you want from your dog, don't you?”
Chris nods. He wants to be friends so much, he can't wait to have the dog following him on his heels, everywhere he goes. Why doesn't the dog feel that and respond to it?
Chris gets up and walks over to his father. Leans against him, hiding his face. Almost unintelligible he mutters about wishing he had taken Uncle Robert's dog while he had the choice. Uncle Robert's dog is a lot older than Iris, but at least very familiar with Chris.
“I didn't hear that.” Collin replies. It's a hint Chris knows pretty well by now. He's entering forbidden ground.
Collin knows his son is impatient. But does it help to bluntly tell him so? “Maybe you should give Iris a moment alone, Chris. Maybe there's something you can do for me in the mean time.”
He looks around the living room . What will keep his son absorbed, so he can finish the reading he should do for his article?
His eyes come across a collection of incense. A friend brings him new flavours with regular intervals. Collin's not fond of it, but thanks her each time she brings it along. So the stock is growing out of proportion. Chris likes to watch the smoke dance upwards, it simply captivates his attention.
“Help Dad light a stick of incense. To help me relax and concentrate on my work. That way I'll be done faster.”
With an enthusiastic yell, Chris runs to the pile of bags with incense sticks. He reads the names of the flavours carefully. Picks out the newest taste in the collection. “Here Dad, this one is called Iris. Maybe it'll help the dog relax too.” Collin's eyes wrinkle up in a smile. Chris is very good at making excuses and finding reasons for doing something he shouldn't do. “Takes after his father,” Ellen used to tease him with that.
“I will burn this stick and then we'll both be friends.” Chris says importantly.
“Is his friendship so important to you?”
The child nods emphatically. “I want his friendship more than anything else.”
“Let's work on that, then.”
“Alright!”
“Alright.”

As Collin looks for the long matches in the kitchen -his son would drop the short ones in a second, afraid of burning his fingers- Chris climbs on a chair and carefully takes out a fair sized church building, meant for tea light candles. It's made of clay, with brown enamel, making it look like an old English country church.
“Can I put the stick in the church's tower?” asks Chris, before his father can say anything. He takes the church out of the child's hands and puts it on the table, on a coaster. Then he lifts his son off the chair.
“Now where do we put in the incense?” Collin asks. Obviously Chris already has a plan. He takes off the spire and points. “Maybe we can stick the end into a potato”.
Collin eyes the entrance of the church, through which a tea light is to be passed and shifted to the nave. No potato would pass through that door. Maybe a piece of bread? It works. It was a tricky job, but now the incense points proudly through the church tower into the air. The spire is resting elsewhere on the table.
Collin helps Chris light up the stick. “Finally” he thinks and turns back to his pile of paper, books and magazines. Chris squints as he is peering through the church windows. He seems ensconced in his own thoughts. Relieved Collin picks up his pen. Better finish this quickly, the stick won't keep Chris occupied forever.
As Chris' eyes move to the incense stick, his face twists. Panic shows as he blows at the stick. With thumb and index finger he pops off the ashes that have piled up on top. It lands on Collins book. With an aggravated look, Collins carefully wipes it off. “What is it now?”
“It burns too fast!” Nonsense, with a few straight words his father convinces him that all sticks burn a little faster at the start. There's nothing different about this one.
Relieved the child eyes the stick again. This time he's not interested in playing with the light passing through the church windows. His hand reaches for the idle spire. First he keeps it next to the stick. The stick is just a little bit longer. But Chris places the spire over it anyway.
“Chris, take that off.” Too late, the stick has stopped burning. Chris casts a look at his father. Partly guilty, partly begging for another chance. Together they light another match.


An idea lights up in Collin. He pulls his son to him, lifts him onto his lap. He wraps his arms around 
the boy and bends over to study his face.  "Do you remember why you lighted this stick?" he asks.


to part 2

Essentials

From the tingling of my fingertips I know that my next post "The Essence of Incense" is going to be a real nice one. Sweet and hazy.
You'll just have to wait until it's finished.

Here's a nice quote from Anonymous ( boy, did he write a lot). Just to keep you busy.

It is Wisdom I am looking for. 

For Wisdom won't discourage Love.

Wisdom makes room for Love. 

And Love sustains Wisdom. 

They are like man and wife.

A good audio fragment about Courage and Love, another interesting couple:

Fragment from "Letters to Juliet" (c)2010 Applehead Pictures, Summit Entertainment
Voice of Claire: Vanessa Redgrave

Silent Protest

    I see them everywhere, at any shopping centre that I know. There's one at least outside every shop that sells women's clothing. Standing erect, back turned towards the store window just a step away from the entrance. Both arms stretched down, hands folded patiently in front of them, or holding a bag containing things from a previously visited shop. Invariably their eyes have this glazed, suffering looked.  These are men who's wife, or girlfriend, is inside the store, looking for clothes.
    Just before christmas I was at the heart of my country's capital. In a street just full of clothing stores. And yes, on both sides of the street, an equally long line of waitng men. A Guard of Honour.Though I doubt that they truly  intended to participate in that.
    What does it mean, that stoic waiting outside a store? Not being a man, I'm afraid I would jump to biased conclusions, so I'm trying not to answer the question myself.

    I was musing about it during the shopping trip, when my son and I took a turn into a smaller street, away from the center. There they were, a mother and a daughter outside a mobile phone store. The mother shouted to some people in the store "Come on, please don't take too long.". When I walked by the store I saw a grown men and two boys inside. Outside his wife took position: standing erect, back turned towards the store window just a step away from the entrance. Both arms stretched down, hands folded patiently in front of her.
    This situation I could understand, and I knew I hadn't made any mistaken assumptions.



    My dear men, if you are really trying to discourage your partner while she's shopping for clothes, you are doing it all wrong. My son just keeps trailing after me, into every store. Sometimes mumbling, other times ostensively quiet. But never more than three feet away from me. It irritates me so much that I just wish he was standing outside, standing erect, his back turned to the store window.

Great! Behaviour-ism!

When I was in high school I thought it was funny to respond to my class mates as if they scared me. So whenever anyone spoke to me I turned to them in a split second, inhaling sharply, making my eyes large as if I was scared to bits. I think I shrieked at times.
Before I knew it, this became a reflex, I responded that way to every impulse. And not voluntarily anymore. The joke went off, I had a high level of adrenaline and reacting frightened was not the wisest thing to do in some situations. So I had to 'unlearn' myself this state of conditioning.

But high school is a time of boredom.
Due to my SPD I avoided being touched or pushed unexpectedly, so I always chose a seat at the back, or -if taken- at the side of the classroom. There I would sit sideways, with my back against the wall. To have no one sitting behind me.
From my position I was able to pay attention to everyone and everything. Except to the lesson. I used to write letters, design fonts or simply dream of being outside, far far away from the madding class.

In a lack luster moment I decided to play the conditioning game again. From a positive perspective this time: I simply yelled “Great!” at everything people said.

'Hey Jo, you're in my way.' -"Great!"
'OK class, here's tomorrow's homework...' -"Great!"
'Next week there'll be a written test.' -"Great!"
The Greats became automated responses and grew louder by the day.

Economy was one of the seven 'branches' I had chosen for final exams. The new teacher, a young man, hardly six years older than our oldest classmate, had a terrible time keeping order. There were people shouting or having conversations with their backs turned to the teacher. V. had let herself drop on the floor, playing that she'd fainted, and now R. was pulling her up again, Making quite a show of it. I think there even  were objects flying through the air. And in the back there was a girl who kept quiet, her eyes submerged in the sky outside. Needless to say her name was JoAnne.

The teacher inhaled, straightened his back and announced as loud as he could: “The next one ...” the class froze, falling silent  “who makes any noise can leave and report to the principal!”

.....
Yes. Five minutes later I was knocking on the principal's door. Lucky for me, the principal was not in his office, so I reported back at the teacher after the lesson was over. R had stayed behind, spoke up for me. He is a lawyer nowadays, a good one I presume: I was forgiven. Except for one thing. “Why do you always have to have the last word?” the economy teacher complained.

After I had yelled "Great!", the teacher told me to go to the principal and report back later.
“Yes sir,” was my reply, “I will do so with sights ands sounds.”
I was spry simply because I was nervous. It was the first -and last- time I was expelled.