Hedge Hopping

“Were the hen scratches”

Anon.

Sometimes, I wander around without moving, looking for something to reach. There is always a room in these times. Four walls, eight corners, a window and a door. In the air, a vanishing, some shape of idea that would not let go. Eyes reel from scratches to stains, hunching and trifling. After a while, I stand up to walk, roam, avoid and swing, to sit back again -Hitting the trail to nowhere. These wanderings invariably end up in a corner, between fading lights and disappearing shades. There is always a hazy feeling about this spot. The more I fathom over there, the less I dig.

Whenever I follow the vertical line of the corner -there is always one- and reach out for the top, the point disappears. Even if I can guess where it is, I cannot focus on it. Either one of the lines vanishes in white, or the spot becomes indistinct. When I aim for the center, as soon as my gaze is set, my mind flies away. No more walls, no more room, no more world. Everything turns faint, and nothing is anymore.

I’ve never been able to face a corner more than a flickering second. Still, I can try for hours, sitting on a chair or on a bed. Shadows pass over, cities roam through and nothing remains, save me endlessly fighting a blank point of the mind. I’ve been playing this game for a long time. Whenever I feel misspelled, washed away by feelings or lost in the curse of thoughts; I play what I call the “Nothing game”.

It all started with a collective wee session. We were three for that. Laurent, Wilfred and me. Up in semi-circle, behind the bushes, zips open, we were aiming in a joint effort to cover a bicycle with our own brewery . I cannot remember who had the stupid idea first, but we all loved it at once: “What if we peed on Will’s sister’s bike?” Even though we had nothing against her, a common and powerful assent rose. It was a nice three-wheeler bike, with a hard plastic seat, chrome blue frame and white handlebars. While heavy drops fell on the poor object, I was vaguely considering our situation. We were not the nasty kind and, still, found this thrilling.

I was around six years old, when this happened. My parents were having the difficult task of trying to give me strong moral values, usually implemented by spanks on the bum and a very solemn voice, to underline what I had done, generally, wrong. My dad was better at this than my mum. I could not take my mum seriously when she tried to punish me. I would definitely deserve a big one for this pee –whoever it came from. Lost in thoughts, I put away my, then, small apparatus with a mechanical gesture and a blurry gaze, obviously denying my presence to the world.

“Wot’ you’r thinkin’ bout?”

“hmm nothin’”

“Look’d like ya were thinkin’ of somethin’”

“No I told ya, I wasn’ thinkin’ of nothin’”

This question suddenly struck me. Could someone really think of nothing? Was I thinking of nothing? And what would it look like? I mean, Nothing, what is it? Is it like the night sky, but without stars? Or more like a fog? More likely pitch black like Space where the astronauts live, but different because if they call it space it’s because there is something there. Not like Nothing. Even if you can’t breathe and you need a full suit, and oxygen. What was I thinkin’ bout? Space? Astronauts? Oh I can’t remember now. It was important though…No, nothing comes back…No, wait, wait, wait! That was it! I was tryin’ to think of nothing. That’s exactly what I was thinking of – Nothing.

That was as far as I would go. The concentration was so demanding. I could not focus any more. I was only six, after all, and stuff had to be done, like losing Batman or Green Arrow up on the wires, next to a longing Robin. We were very clever at putting the hard duties of our superheroes close to reality – flying high , bouncing around, and chasing each other. Other times we would nose around at the neighbor and his girlfriend. They used to sunbath naked in the park next to the collective building we lived in. No matter how many trees there were for them to hide, we, “tall ones” and “small ones”, always managed to get a sneaky glance at the desired breast. I guess it was also their version of hide-and-seek. And we loved it. Despite all these very fulfilling activities, the question still haunted me.

“You can think of somethin’. Okay. I can think of Death, old auntie Martha died. I know how she looked like. I can think of that tree over there, or mum. But what about nothing? There’s always something in my head. I’m always thinking of something. I can ride a bicycle without stabilizers, I can do that. Try to think of nothing.”

I remained dead silent, aiming away and dreaming without words. Almost a minute of stillness and it came. Winged, yellow and buzzing around: the bee.

“It’s flying around … … I can hear it … …bzzz … … annoying… …Oh! I’ve just been thinking! That’s it, I lost it. Right let’s do it again. … …Think of nothin’… …bzzz… …nothing… …bzz… …think… … bzzz… … nothing… … bzzz … nothing nothing nothing … bzzz …Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! NOTHING! “

Out of breath, shaking to the knees, my eyes began to sore as the bee finally went away. I despaired just as much as when my lego castle breaks down. Hours of patience blown away; turning a whole new world into total chaos. Despite its flying-off, I could no longer keep on.

“Pfff! I can’t do it. Now there’s plenty of nothings in my head. Too many of them things. And I’m tired now. Maybe I can’t because I’m too small. Maybe grownups can. Or maybe I just need some training. If I think of nothing plenty of times, maybe one day, I won’t notice it but I’ll be thinkin’ of nothing. And then I’ll know cos’ cos’… But what if I think that I am thinking of nothing? What about That ? Then I won’t be thinking of nothing anymore. I’m gonna have the idea “you are thinking of nothing”. I can hear it already. And That is something.”

Determined as only goats are, I decided to exercise with my eyes closed, right in the middle of the road. Even though I could not think of nothing, I believed that if I closed my eyes, I would, at least, see nothing. This was only the first clever idea: cup my hands and block my ears? See nothing, hear nothing, think nothing? I would be close to nothing, even though I would still hear my breath. That was a problem I solved by holding it. After a couple of seconds, I felt my blood pressure began to rise. My whole chest sounded like an African drum beating from a deep jungle. When the sigh of despair finally came, mum called for dinner. It was already dusk and despite late summer light, boys’ games were over.

“What were you doing in the middle of the road? Some car could have come you know.”

“I was thinkin’”

“About what?”

“I’m tryin’ to think of nothing’”

“You what?”

“It’s hard stuff you know. And if you interrupt me, I can’t do it mum!”

“Don’t talk to me like that! Come inside it’s dinner time. And get your bike out of the road will you! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Pfff… Can’t do what I want. Can’t even think of nothin’ here”

Naturally, during the dinner the interrogation came. “What was I thinking of? Standing in the middle of the road? It’s dangerous, and dark, and what was I doing: closing my eyes? blocking my ears? Some car might have come, somebody tired, or worse drunk, and wouldn’t see me... And who gave me this stupid idea, anyway?” On, and on, and on. I answered when I felt the heat coming. The spanking was there, right in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for any missed step. So I told my parents the truth.

“Well, we were with my mates, wee… we were playing… you know stuff. And it came up like that: … Oohh, It’s hard to explain. Better ask it : Dad?… Can someone, ever in the world, of the cosmos, of the universe –that was a common joke we used to have, implying a very deep and resounding questioning for my part, and a painful and mind-breaking moment for my old man– think of nothing?”

“Yes of course. Sometimes, I’m not thinking of anything in particular. I’m just looking away and things pop up in my head. Even if they’re nothing in particular.”

“I already know that dad! I mean, you know nothing, like nothing at all. Not even … a single thing. Because, there’s always something inside my head. I can’t think of nothing. Maybe the others can but not me. I tried so hard. But, but I can’t!”

This outcry for light followed by the eternal “Is it bad, dad, that I can’t do that?”. I cannot imagine how lost, and suddenly tired he must have felt at this time, but he tried to give me satisfying answers. First evoking empty spaces, then zen, unreachable corners of the human mind, even quoting Plutarch “The hearing of deaf action, and the seeing of the blind” –this one gave me a headache– closing the chapter with a traditional “ That is a very deep and important question, son, and you should continue to ask yourself this. Maybe, one day, you’ll find the answer”. Nothing worth satisfying the thirst for answers of a curious boy, facing the mysteries of existence.

Until one day, one dead corner. It must have been one of my bedroom. The answer was right there, between three lines and a plane. I found the answer, more by stumbling than logic, but I had it. I got so excited, that I crafted my speech for ages before catching up with my mates. The corner of the bed was my favorite spot for this and still is. When I felt ready, I jumped off the balcony –we lived on the ground floor– and ran to unveil my findings to the world.

“You cannot think of nothing”

“Wot? Wot’re talkin’ bout?”

“Remember, when you asked me what I was I thinkin’ bout, and I answered nothin’?”

“Uh yeah, maybe”

“Well that’s wrong!”

“Wot?”

My beautiful, nicely crafted, speech had been blown away by the shrill state I was. Gathering my little brain back together, I started the pitch:

“Ok. Try to think of nothing, not even what you can see or hear. Nothing in your head. You can close your eyes and block your ears if you want.”

“Wot? You mean now?”

“Yeah right now. Both of yous, try it !”

I was shouting at them, as little corporals from cartoon armies do. Bouncing from one foot to another, staring at each other, they were wondering what the hell was happening to them. What had they done wrong to deserve this? But we were mates for life. There was no “You’re too strange, we won’t do it” between us. That’s what mates for life are for. You can even ask them to abandon the joys of cricket hunting, to stop and try to think of nothing.

“Okay. Give us a minute”

“Are you ready? Do you think you have it?”

“Yeah I think I’m on it”

“Yeah me too”

“Wrong! Both of yous! Wrong!”

“Why? That’s not fair!”

“Yeah we weren’t thinking of nothing!”

“You answered me, you idiots. You were thinking of me talking to yous”

“That’s because…”

“I know I know I talked to yous. But can you swear, you were thinking of nothing? You were thinking of tryin’ to think of nothing, weren’t yous?”

They were lost. Like many people around me, during these times. I had this very special ability to lose people with tricky questions which nobody, except me, found worth getting interested in. Of course, I could not take them to face the unknown, and leave them without a clue. You do not make people ask themselves something they would never have thought of, and abandon the ship. They were my mates. For life, remember?

“I know it’s a bit complicated, but I think I really found something. Trust me. Just listen to what I’ve gotta say, I know it’s hard but it’s worth it”

“Ok, go for it”

“You can’t think of nothing because you are always thinking of something. Even if you look somewhere, without concentrating, there’s always something you see. The sky, the tree, the bee.”

“The bee?”

“Listen will you? Even when you close your eyes, you always hear something. Your breath or you heart. But even if you could not hear outside, you would hear the words inside your head. And even if you had no words but things inside, that wouldn’t do. Because, if you try to think of nothing, there’s still the idea nothing in your head. You can’t think of nothing because you always think of something. Although this something is nothing. D’yer get it?”

“You mean, we never stop thinking.”

“No, never. That’s why we can’t say, when somebody asks “What are you thinking about?”, “Nothing” because that is something we’re thinking about. So it can’t be nothing.”

“So you’re saying we can’t think of nothing. Nobody can?”

“Exactly”

“So what do you think of that? Great idea isn’t it?”

“Great. We can’t think of nothin’, because if we think, then there is somethin’ : nothin’”.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go back to the crickets.”

That was that. The problem was over. No need to share with the tall ones. We could, at last, think of something else than nothing. We had crickets and ponytail girls to chase, along with plastic bottles to burn under the bed. Up to wander around, looking for something to reach.

Barcelonetta, 05 February 2006