A little seed fell on the forest floor, at the right spot and the right time. Good moisture, good light and decent coverage all helped it find its footing and sprout a tiny little root.
Yesterday, it was a gentle giant, 205 feet tall and overlooking the river crossing in Capilano. I tried to connect with it by the ancient art of touch-and-feel, assisted by the ubiquitous and almost decriminalized BC bud.
Very nonchalantly, he introduced himself, “The name is Douglas … Doug Fur. What sup dude?” Well, I knew for a fact that he would know what really was up, so gave him a bit of view from the low down.
Doug was rather surprised on some of the recent events, and asked, “No kidding! The Tahltans are gone? So these guys … the Tehrani are not related to them?” Then he thought a bit and added, “It figures, cause most of them graffiti carvings are not eagles and salmons, but about some sort of flying dude.”
Farvahar was foreign to my new woody friend, and I had to explain the ancient Persian concept of the spirit of life. “The spirit existed before us and will continue long after our passing. The purpose of human life on Earth is to live in such a way that the soul progresses spiritually and attains union with the spirit.”
Doug nodded in agreement and added, “Cool … the Tahltans also believed in something similar, and actually said the same things … especially after a couple of peace pipes!” He then nervously looked at my pocket knife and inquired, “Are you gonna cut me dude?”
He was much relieved when we showed him the melons and the Noon-Panir that we had carried to the park, in order to avoid the friendly but grossly overpriced snack vendors. Then, Doug only asked us not to liter the place and cramp his style.
On the way back, the calming effect of medicinal fatty was disappearing, as we came across a group of North Van kids with a boom box, playing the latest Tehrangeles songs … at max volume of course. Sure thing, a couple of them had a kilo of gold hanging, including some impressive displays of the Farvahar.
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