Spiritual interlude on the Essequibo

Apr 12, 2015 Countryman, Features / Columnists

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Countryman – Stories about life, in and out of Guyana, from a Guyanese perspective

By Dennis Nichols
Most people experience what is called a spiritual quest at some point in their lives. This may mean different things to different people. For example, although many persons associate this idea with organized religion, others relate it to, and find its resolution in, nature, Eastern mysticism, introspection, selfless service, or peace in the midst of persecution and chaos.
I find mine in nature and in an almost improbable appreciation for what appears to be divine mediation in the affairs of human beings, including miraculous and unexplained phenomena. This is so despite any real logic, religious underpinnings, or empirical foundation. In other words, I simply ‘feel’ something.
Often it is as earthly and as mundane as singing an old hymn, watching a flock of birds wheeling against a perfectly blue sky, paddling a canoe on a creek far, far from Georgetown, walking through a Bahamian pine forest, or watching a sunrise or sunset on the Essequibo River.
Guyana, like a majority of countries around the world, is replete with churches, temples, mosques, and shrines, which are usually associated with spiritual calmness and enlightenment. Yet some ‘religious’ people are living under unbearable stress, and in mortal fear of sudden and unexpected calamity.
Many wealthy and successful people also endure the same existential anxiety despite their apparent good fortune. The peace of mind and quiet sense of purpose which I understand to be an essential aspect of this process appear to be far removed from their lives. (Obviously though, some religious, wealthy, and successful persons do live spiritually-fulfilling lives)
Philosopher Emile Cioran, in a seemingly-pessimistic frame of mind, said, “Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.” Compare his cynicism to the hope-filled words of another philosopher, American essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Write in on your heart, that every day is the best day of the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded by fret and anxiety.”  I understand Cioran, but I appreciate Emerson.
But when I think of the kind of spirituality I most closely relate to, the first stanza of one of Emily Dickinson’s ‘simpler’ poems springs to mind. She says.  “Some keep the Sabbath going to church; I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome” Had I lived in 19th century America, I imagine I may have had a most absorbing relationship with the ‘belle of Amherst’.
In our temporal world, I am constantly struck, though I shouldn’t be, by the crazy materialism I see everywhere. In this aspect, some Guyanese are scrambling madly to play catch-up.  I can understand, and to a point empathize with, those of us who do so in our struggle against apparently overwhelming odds of poverty and want.
But what about those who, as alluded to earlier, are financially secure and have an abundance of possessions but still desire more? The preponderance of large buildings, shiny cars and nouveau riche flaunting in Georgetown and some coastal areas are too ostentatious for me. I don’t get it! In my naiveté I guess, I want to see some validation of human selflessness and spiritual discharge. There is a yearning for quietude and spiritual equilibrium.
Although I need and enjoy their amenities, cities tend to disorient me, and enervate me psychically. I don’t like noise and crowds. I don’t like big churches, shopping malls, highways and airports. In The Bahamas, for example, my idea of excitement wasn’t getting in the flow on Nassau’s famed Bay Street shopping district, or visiting Paradise Island’s fable-like Atlantis Hotel. It was a solitary walk along a beach in Andros; not a soul in sight, but feeling as close to a divine presence as I ever have.
Many years ago I travelled on the MV Malali from Adventure, on the Essequibo Coast, to Parika, East Bank Essequibo. It was a journey I had made several times before, and I enjoyed the leisurely, even snail-like pace of the ferry because it allowed me to track its path (in the daytime) as it wound its way across the river estuary and around Wakenaam, Hog Island and Leguan.
But this time was different. Firstly, it was a night journey; in fact the boat left Adventure sometime after midnight. The ferry was crowded. I could find no place to stretch out, and insomnia kicked in. Close to me, a few people talked and drank, cursed and laughed boisterously. I prayed for daylight which would mean that the boat was nearing Parika, unless a sandbank got in the way. And I got my daylight. Boy, did I get it!
As the place got brighter, I decided to go to the front of the boat, outside the cabin area, and catch some fresh air. I inhaled the cold, salty air deeply, and walked across to the vessel’s rails. I held on. I looked out. And a vista of beauty unfolded before me.
The sun had just risen, and a light mist was evaporating from the surface of the Essequibo River. As it did, it revealed a brown-black surface, as ripple-less and as reflective as polished mirror. The morning sun pulled itself slowly from up from behind the tree-line of an island, radiant and pulsing in his incandescence. God was somewhere nearby.
And as I watched, he sent a golden shaft of light plunging into the river’s surface, like a burnished sabre piercing a hitherto unbroken shield, and the mighty Essequibo threw back the reflection with lustrous clarity. For a moment I thought of the legendary Arthurian sword, Excalibur, flashing, before disappearing into the mere, in Tennyson’s Morte d’Arthur.
I was transfixed by nature’s show. My moroseness quickly disappeared, and I soon felt the urge to share that sublime moment with someone, but couldn’t. Many passengers were on the deck by now, but none of them seemed to notice, or to be in any way affected by the sight. Some were stretching, some just ambling about, a few were in conversation, and one man was cleaning his teeth. They were readying themselves for the business of getting on with life. The river and the sun were just the preamble to another hustle-bustle, care-filled day.
Soon, I too would join the rat race that day. But even as I did, I knew that I would pause, and contemplate some aspect of nature along the way. I knew that I would never forget that brief interlude of romance between river and sun. I knew I would thank God for more moments like that, and I knew I would not be disappointed.
I have never found that kind of experience anywhere else but in nature. And as the great Italian poet, Dante, declared, “Nature is the art of God”. That’s my kind of spirituality.

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