Rainbow
Jon was awake. He could hear the long Westminster chime of Granny's old grandfather clock striking five in the hall at the bottom of the steep stairs of the cottage, one less hour than his years. But it was not the clock that had woken him, it was the outer branches of the old pear tree tapping against his window and the quietening drizzle of the nights passing storm. Jon crept out of bed to take his first look at the new spring day. Light was creeping slowly into the world, bringing the lawn to life from gray to green and gently painting the flowers that dressed the garden hedge. He looked up at the rolling clouds tossed by the steady breeze and watched as the gray rain drifted away from the cottage towards the gentle hills and woods in the distance. He stood mesmerised for a moment, watching the rising sun set fire to the sky in a blaze of orange and red and then bolted for the door. This moment had to be shared, but somehow he knew it would not last so he pulled his sister from her bed, dragging her urgently back to his room and the spender on display at his little window. He was quickly forgiven and they quietly watched together as the sun reached higher and higher into the sky, silhouetting the dark clouds over the woods in brilliant silver. Just as it seemed that this moment was complete, the room filled with the exuberant excitement of two small children witnessing the birth of their very first rainbow. It burst into the sky in such glorious spender that for a moment they were rooted to the spot. Then the spell broke and they hurled themselves out of Jon’s room, leaped down the steep stairs, past the clock, through the front door and barefoot into the damp garden. Their pyjamas far to light for the nippy spring air was of no concern as they dashed for the gate, passed the smiling old man leaning on his stick, out into the fields and of course, towards the pot of gold that everyone knows sits at the end of every rainbow.
Clear, vast and infinite space like tranquil lucidity without beginning, perceptive, unaware and perfectly poised, moving moment by moment from the last desperate grasping towards a new beginning - waiting. The world turns, the wind blows in the dark sky and the first hint of the sun spreads from the east towards the storm. The dancing pirouette of constant change arching back and back beyond comprehension to beginning less time for the world to be thus. The sun and the stars, the clouds and the rain and the waiting collide into a dream of form. From the dark comes light and from the silence the sound of the wind, the air fresh and chilly and clean - arising from the depths of the deepest of sleep into a blaze of colour. Countless rays hurled across the vast void sliced at once across the spectrum by a hundred billion perfect prisms into and from which the rainbow is born. Stretching across the endless expense of sky the rainbow becomes and as the world takes shape, she wonders at such dazzling beauty and smiles from the depths of her stillness. Moments pass and her and the worlds appearance solidify and she becomes aware - every blade of grass, every flower, every tree, the gentle buzz of the bumblebee, the scurrying rabbits and her own glorious beauty arising and appearing as one.
The wind carries the delighted squeals of the excited children up and up between the billowing clouds into the blue. The rainbow looks down from her lofty palace and smiles at their fun. As far as she can see, people are pausing from their busyness, directing their gaze towards the sky and marvelling. Marvelling at her, marvelling at her beauty and the thought arises in her mind;
“Oh, look how they adore me! I am the most beautiful thing in the world… the sun and the earth cannot compare with my splendour! Nothing is as wonderful to behold!”
And her mind is filled with pride and she shines even brighter, drawing gasps of delight from all who see her and her happiness grows and grows until it fills her mind.
“Oh I am such a wonderful rainbow! I will live happily forever under the adoring gaze of all who see me!”
The moments pass, the earth turns, the sun moves, the clouds lighten and the rainbow begins to fade. The people below go back to their work and the children go back to their play and the eyes of the world return as the object of their wonder goes back whence it came. As the rainbows colours fail so does her world; becoming hazy and confused. Sound drifts unrecognised away from her, she can no longer feel the air and the sun; the hills, the woods and the people below begin to dissolve into a bright empty fog and she is gripped with fear and regret;
“My colours are fading, the people are no longer looking at me, I am no longer beautiful, I am becoming nothing…”
And she is filled with deep regret, longing for her former glory, craving the cries of the children and eyes of the world. Filled with deep sorrow for her great loss she dies and the last thing she hears is the sun and the wind, the earth and the clouds whispering;
“Beautiful rainbow, you are no more but you never were – you go to where you came. Farewell dear friend – we are one and all is empty.”
As the rainbow dissolves, Jon and his sister turn back to the cottage suddenly aware of the morning chill. Their hearts are filled with delight but also a good measure of sorrow at the passing of such starting beauty. As they approach the cottage gate they catch sight of the old man from the neighbouring cottage still leaning on his stick.
“Ah, she was a beauty eh!” he says – gesturing towards the clouds with the butt of his old pipe “I’ve not seen one quite as such for many a year…”
“Where did it go?” asks Jon “we were hoping to find the gold”.
“Well,” said the old man “That’s a very fine question and not an one easy to answer. She seemed to come out of the blue and then fade back into the blue just like that eh? The fact is though, that she was never actually there at all. Nothing but an appearance of causes and conditions, a trick of the light and the rain – no more. Just like you and me and everything else we think is so true…,”
And with that, he re lit his old pipe, whished them farewell through a puff of blue smoke and was gone.
There were of course many more rainbows over the years but Jon and his sister never forgot the magic of that very fist one. With each new appearance the old man’s words were recalled but their wisdom remained hidden until one day, many years later Jon watched his father slowly dying from a degenerative illness. At the end, as his father finally took his last breath and left this world – the old man’s words were in Jon’s ears and were a strangely powerful comfort.
David Turberfield, Singapore, October 2010©
