The elephant was tugging down branches and stuffing leaves into his mouth.
It was a clear morning, yet the air promised not to get too hot during the day. He munched contentedly and thoughtfully looked around him to choose the trees he would try later. He felt that variety always enhanced his dining.
The other elephants were spaced among the trees, and although ever wary of the active jungle, they were more or less minding their own business as they ate.
The general chatter of the smaller animals came through the undergrowth while the antics of the frolicking monkeys filtered down from the upper branches. They were glad that the food was abundant, and they were thankful just to be left alone.
It was, therefore, with some consternation that they were shaken out of their reverie by agitated noises within their midst. Snorts and grumbling and then the abrupt snap of a branch made them flinch and look cautiously around.
They all, in almost one motion, turned in one direction. And none of them were surprised to see who was at the centre of the commotion.
The elephant stood with his trunk wrapped around a whole branch, which he had just ripped from the tree. He was holding it in front of his eyes and peering intently at the leaves.
He had been eating leaves as long as he could remember, yet the only thing he was certain about was their colour. But now, he realized that even this certainty wasn’t accurate.
Yes, they were green. But there were shades of green, sheens of green, stains of green. The same leaf could have a different type of green on the surface and on the underside. And different leaves offered a variety of alterations to the same shape. The ridging, the veins, the serrated or smooth edges; the cuneate, the deltoid, the orbiculate, the palmate, and the numerous other forms. He had been stuffing them all into his mouth with little heed or care.
And as he looked along the branch itself — as he gripped it fiercely in his trunk and held it before his eyes — he saw an intricate network of independent parts existing because they were all connected.
The elephant stood in thought for a long time.
He occasionally maneuvered the branch into his mouth and munched on some of the leaves. But his mind, although deeply absorbed in the leaves, was not upon his meal.
His recognition of what leaves really were had cleared three distinct paths in his mind, and he didn’t know which to follow:
1. if he had been this unobservant about something so close to him, what else was he missing?
2. considering all that he must be missing, how could he be sure that even this new revelation was complete?
3. well … everything else led to his third question, and he was going to the top for the answer.
“The TOP!” he shouted, startling the other elephants again.
And he threw the branch violently onto the ground, startling them even more.
They moved cautiously in their places, so none would have their back to him, and kept their heads positioned in such a way that they could constantly watch him. His thoughts were annoying, and many of his actions had caused them aggravation, but far back in their collective minds was the fear that he might turn rogue.
The elephant, however, was paying little heed to the rest of the herd. He had made one of his instant decisions, and he was not going to delay. Even to finish his breakfast.
But, as he started walking away, he stepped on a branch. And as he looked down, he realized that he might be making a hasty decision. A good meal could only help him in his quest, so he retrieved the branch and ate as he went.
He did not go gently as he tramped his way into the jungle.
He brushed roughly against the trees, scraping off some of their bark and bending some branches to near breaking. He flattened patches of grass into the dirt, which might have been the fate of many of the smaller animals if his progress was not so audibly foretold.
In his haste, he even missed a turn on the established path and grumbled with exaggerated annoyance when he butted his head.
And, when he finally finished stripping the leaves from the branch he was carrying, he tossed it high over his back to get rid of it.
He was surprised when he failed to hear it come down.
He stopped to take a look. He peered left and he peered right. And finally, he stared straight above his head.
The branch had become caught in a cloud.
“Rage, rage,” said the cloud.
“You’re doing that on purpose.” The elephant was getting a crick in his neck. “You’re vapour. The branch should have fallen.”
“And perhaps, fallen on you.” The cloud came closer to the elephant. “A form of justice, don’t you think?”
The branch slid from the cloud and landed just in front of the elephant’s trunk.
“I want to ask a question,” said the elephant.
“Will that stop you in your tracks and end your thundering disregard for my earthly domain?”
“Well … yeh.” The elephant sniffed at the branch. “Thanks for not dropping it on me.”
“Your God is a just God.” The cloud eased into a more comfortable position for the elephant. “But that justice is tempered with many other considerations. Now, what’s your question?”
“Why is there life?”
“Life is a combination of self-awareness and the ability to make choices. In any given situation, when you —”
“Excuse me.” The elephant was again insistent. “I don’t want to know what life is. I want to know why it exists.”
“That’s really looking behind the mirror,” said God. “You’re more fundamental than the Fundamentalists.”
“I understand some of what goes on because there is life, and that’s difficult enough. But …” The elephant looked at the denuded branch near his feet. “How did you ever think of leaves? Why did you make them?”
“I can tell you the reason for leaves and explain fully what they do, and it would probably take until sunset.” The cloud sighed ever so slightly. “But I suppose that is not what you want.”
“A botany lesson?” asked the elephant. “No.”
“The spirit demands purpose,” said God. “Just having a state of being is not enough. Your lives and bodies are not a beginning — they are merely outer garments for your soul.”
“The soul is the beginning?”
“Yes.”
“Then where does the soul begin?”
“Your soul is part of me,” said God. “And it is given this individual life, and this intricately made world, so you can learn enough to understand the whole of me.”
“You can’t just tell us?”
“Knowledge without understanding would be like a diet of sugar cane. Filling but not nourishing.”
“It seems a complicated way to go about things,” said the elephant, who was rather fond of sugar cane. “When all is said and done, you don’t even need us.”
“You don’t,” said God, “possess enough knowledge to make that assumption.”