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(May 1890)
Publications:
- The Path, vol. V, no. 2, May 1890, pp. 33-38
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DATA
Title for references: Keightley J - Carlos Game
Short description: Signed "J. Campbell Verplanck," Julia Keightley's own name at the time. A second "Uncle John" dialog...
33 Carlo was playing a favorite game, although you would not have supposed him to be playing at all. He was lying flat upon his back, his small heels planted against a pine tree trunk, his dreamy little face upturned to the blue sky glimmering between the boughs. This game he called "My Remember Game," and so he told his Uncle John who came up and asked what he was doing there.
"Playin' my Remember Game, Uncle John," he said. "Come an' lie 34down this a way, Sir, an' maybe you'll remember too."
Uncle John glanced at the feet vigorously tatooing the tree trunk, and inquired, "Why do you put your feet on the tree, Carlo; is it a part of the game?"
"Put 'em there 'cause I feel the tree tickle me. Somethin' inside that tree runs up and I feel it makin' me shiver. I call that the tree's blood. Papa calls it nonsense. What do you call it, Uncle?"
"I think it must be what you call the tree's blood, Carlo, but I have a different name. I call it the life force."
"An' which's the best name?"
"Well; let us see. Why do you call it the tree's blood?"
Giving his curly mane a toss, Carlo rolled over and bit a mouthful of sorrel grass in delight. He felt sure he should win in this game of reasoning with Uncle John. They often played thus, looking into the reasons of things and trying to find out the "Why". He laughed aloud in his pleasure.
"Guess I'm goin' to beat you, Sir. I've got a awful good 'Why'. When I cut my finger, other day, blood runned out. Everybody in the whole world calls it blood. An' when I cut the tree, a yellow stickiness runned out; so I called it blood. It must be a runnin' there, an' I bet it's what tickles my feet."
His feet were covered with yellow moccasins, bead embroidered.
"Is wearing moccasins part of the game?" inquired Uncle John.
"No. Least, I think not. But it tickles more through them than my shoes."
"I shouldn't wonder if that were really so. You gave me a right good reason, Carlo Boy. Now I owe you mine. You said the tree's blood, which is called sap or resin by most people, ran out when you cut the tree, didn't you?"
"Well it didn't 'xactly run, but it kinder comed out, that a way. Trees are slower than people in everything, isn't they?"
"They are, my Boy; they are. A tree is never in a hurry. We might take some good lessons from trees. And I see you've been taking some. Always, when you see anything, try to see something else like it in some other part of the world and in yourself, and then you'll understand better. To do that is called Comparison, or Analogy."
Carlo yawned.
"I don't fink I care about those big words, Uncle," he said. "I don't fink I do. But all the boys allays looks around to see what will esplain things to them 'when peoples is too busy'."
"Explain is the word, Carlo."
"I don't care for them words," said the child with some impatience. "You know whatfings I mean; any old word will do when you know the fings. An' you aint gived me your reason yet. Did I beat you; is mine the best?"
"My reason is this. When your blood runs, or the sap moves, do you 35think the blood and the running are one, or two? Do you think the sap and the moving are the same thing, or two things?"
Carlo considered. "I dunno," he slowly said.
"You saw an engine moving yesterday. Was that two things, or one?"
"Two," he shouted joyously, kicking his heels in the air. "Two!" In his exuberance he rolled upon his Uncle, now seated on the grass beside him, and began to pommel him lightly with his fists.
"Why two, Carlo?"
"Because steam made it go. I seen it. I seen the engineer too."
"Anything more?"
"You bet I did. I saw a fire, a red one. I fink Papa said it made the steam."
"Then there were four things, old man. The engine is like the tree. The steam is like the sap. The moving that comes from the sap and from the steam, that is what makes both run, and makes your blood run. That is Force. In living things it is life force. All things have their own kind of force, don't you see; but all are different ways in which Force shows itself. Force puts on many masks, as the clown did in the circus yesterday, but behind the masks is always the same one moving them all. Tree's life and engine's life and boy's life don't run the same way. The tree, the engine, the boy don't move alike either. But Force, the hidden Mover, is the same in itself. It moves you, me, the world, the ants and flowers; our ways are different, but the Mover is the same."
Carlo breathed hard. He was interested. He knew and loved his Uncle's ways; generally he understood them. When he didn't he used to say: "I don't understand, Uncle, but I love you," Then the Uncle would answer, "That does just as well; it's the same thing. Love will bring the understanding bye and bye." So Carlo got to speaking of his "understanding" and his "love-understanding." He said now: "I know what you mean with my love-understandin', Uncle. Just that a way. An' does all the Motion, does that Mover come from fire, everywhere?"
"Yes; that Mover is Fire; different kinds of fire. Some kinds we see with our eyes, and some with our minds—"
"Our Thinkers"—Carlo interrupted.
"Yes; and some with our understanding."
"And some only with our love-understandin's?"
"Some only that way just now. But I told you that love will bring truth after a while. There is really only One Fire, but when it enters the sun, the air, coal, or a man, it looks different, it has different ways. Forty-nine ways, the wise men say."
"Forty-Nine! Is that more than a thousand?" asked Carlo, whose kilts and curls had never yet been inside a schoolroom. He was learning things outside. The world was his object lesson, and his Uncle the skilful teacher. With a pleased little chuckle he asked now: "Did you forget the engineer, Unky? Did you?"
36 "By no means, my boy. That engineer is very important. He can run the train up, or down, or off the track to destruction. You and I can run our engines where we please, always according to the laws of Motion. A man can run his body as he pleases, make it a good instrument to help the world, or he can do a great deal of harm, but he can only follow the ways of the hidden Mover. His ways are patterns for ours. And we must have good fires in these engines of ours; the right fuel is a good will. Isn't that so?"
"May be so," answered the boy, rubbing his curls. "You telled me never to say I was sure when I hadn't tried it. Carlo aint tried that yet. I guess I don't know that about lots of fires, but I want to know where's the tree's engines. Has it got a Thinker like ours?"
"Not like ours, but a Thinker of its own kind."
Carlo sat up suddenly. "What fun! Did you ever see a tree's Thinker?"
"No. Nor did I ever see your soul, or mine, (Thinkers as you call them). Nothing else has a Thinker like men. But one great Thinker is at work in us all. Everything lives, acts, goes on. That is life, and life is thought. Everything that moves has thought of its own kind. To think is to be."
"An' flowers an' nuts an' leaves is the tree's thoughts, I know. My Remember Game told me so."
"Is that so? Do tell me about your game, little one. What else does it say?"
"It says—". The bright eyes filled with tears. "Promise me you won't tell Papa, nor any laughin' people. Promise."
"I do promise."
"Well," said a small and solemn voice, "my Game Remember says my beauty Mamma aint dead at all. No! She isn't. True! Aren't you glad, Uncle John? She was your Sister, you know."
"Indeed I am glad, Carlo. She was, and is, my dear Sister. I always hoped she was not really dead. In fact, I don't think I ever believed she was."
Carlo caught his uncle's bearded face in his two plump hands and squeezed it, looking eagerly in his eyes for an instant, then with a soft sigh of satisfaction he kissed his friend. "You aint laughin' like the rest does," he explained. "I wonder they want to laugh at childrens; it makes 'em look awful ugly."
"Tell me more about your game, Carlo."
"I jess lie down an' look straight ahead at the sky, 'cause I aint really lookin' at nothin' you know. Then fings comes a sailin', a sailin' with music, right spang frou' my mind. A many fings. But you have to keep 37so still. If you jump about, an' say 'Oh! no, Oh! no,' then it all stops: all them sky ships sails home again."
"What news do your ships bring you, Boy?"
"Such stories about fings. Funny fings that Carlo used to be. Nice fings too. Sometimes fairies; not often. Sometimes they makes me understand what the birds say when they sing; an' when squirrels chatters, too."
"And is that all?"
"Uncle John, you allays inter-rumps at the bestest part. My Game Remember says Mamma is round me like the air. It says she's a comin' back to me some-eres else. It says I'll be her Mamma, an' she'll be my little boy; bet I'll be good to her when she's a he. It says we were once two butterflies; two little baby deers in a forest too. It says we used to fly in the air; the one that loved God best could go fastest. To-day it said we was beautiful lights, an' God was a big Light that lit us all up and made us feel like a good long heaven shining. An'—an'—I disremember more now. You lie down here an' play my Game Remember, Uncle John. I call it that 'cause I fink it remines me of somefings I knew when I knew lots more than these old grown-ups do. It makes me feel werry big in here." He struck his breast with his hands. "Play it an' tell me if it says true."
"I have played it; I think it says true, on the whole," the Uncle answered, smiling at the boy's excitement and delight.
"Hurrah! But say; how could I be all those fings some other time?"
"Do you remember what I told you about the One Fire, and all its ways?"
"Ess"—said Carlo.
"That Fire never dies. It lives forever in a darkness of Its own. It comes out of that Darkness; it goes back into that Darkness. You have seen our earth fire do that. The One Fire is the Father of all Fires, the Father of Lights. It goes into a form. It comes out, and the form falls to pieces, like the wood which is ashes when the fire has left it. That Fire goes into many, many forms, in very many ways. Each form, in dying, gives life to something else. Cinders and ashes make food that is good for grass and flowers. The acorn dies, and from its grave springs a tree. Some dead forms give birth to worms that creep, and some to winged things. Some worms die, and butterflies arise to kiss the flowers. Some germs ferment, and little children are born. So you see there is no Death; there is only another kind of life, another form from broken forms. But always the One Fire in its many ways and lesser fires gives life and motion to worlds of forms. There are shapes of air, shapes of light, shapes of fire, just as there are more solid shapes, and all are always melting away into one 38another like the pictures of your kaleidoscope. What makes them move and change so? The hidden Mover in the lesser fires that are the souls of men."
"I see! I know! Them little fires is the children of the great Fire, the Fire with a Thinker as big as the world. Now I know why Mamma teached me to say 'Our Father'; she wanted me to fink about that good Fire what makes all these splendid things. It's a great Light: far, far away an' everywhere too; my Game Remember says so. It loves me. I heard it a sayin' 'Come, Carlo; let us make everybody werry happy an' we'll shine forever an' ever.' It just lows to shine, Uncle John."[1]
The boy's voice fell. The sun was about to disappear in the west. Birds twittered in the trees. Carlo's eyes followed his Uncle's; he clapped his hands.
"See the red fire that sun makes. Is the sun one of the ways of God? Then I fink he's goin' down to that One Fire, to say that the world is werry well. The great Fire will be glad to know that; I fink it must like us werry well to take trouble to make such a many fings. An' I fink that God is here too, an' everywhere. He's the hiding Mover, Uncle John; he's life, if he never dies. I feel him movin' in me, now. He burns me; he loves me; he moves me. My Game Remember says that's God."
Uncle John's lips did not move, yet he was saying:
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."
J. Campbell Verplanck.
Footnotes
- ↑ The speeches of Carlo have been made to the author by various other children from time to time, and are, in substance and imagery, facts. – Editor.