Vincent Ribeiro

“By the time I started down off the ridge, I felt absolutely gluttonous with natural beauty. How rich the Nepalis are for all their lack of western wealth. I try not to overly romanticize the pastoral scene, because the elimination of the health problems in these villages would certainly add to the comfort of life for the Nepalis. But I am having a crises of confidence about anything the developed nations have to "give" or teach Nepal about the quality of life.

I think of one of the villages where I rested. Saturday is a bidhaa, holiday, in Nepal, and little clusters of men gathered lazily under the chautaara, the resting tree, with its gnarly roots. Little boys tossed a ball made from old socks back and forth to each other. The women at the water tap, in their wonderful wildflower shades of clothes, stood talking with their golden water urns glowing in the sun. Four little girls played a complicated jump rope game. Could I honestly say these people's lives would have been improved if they had spent their bidhaa at the mall?”
― Barbara J. Scot, The Violet Shyness of Their Eyes: Notes from Nepal

“A tree starts out as we do, as the union of two haploid gametes, the egg and the sperm. Cells divide again and again to become embryos. An infinitesimally small number of embryos become seedlings, and out of these, a tiny subset become trees. Time may stand still for decades in some seeds that enter dormancy until conditions for growth become suitable. Time may stop for decades as the seedling exists in the shade, garnering just enough energy for survival but not enough for growth. Time speeds up as sunlight is reached and the tree explodes in sudden growth and then proceeds along its trajectory to reproduction, senescence, and death. In some trees, like the gray birch and balsam fir, maximum life span is usually shorter than our own. In many others it is close to ours, while in a few trees, including the bristlecone pines, a life span of four thousand years is not impossible.

Bristlecone pines grow extremely slowly because they live in a cold climate (the White Mountains of California) and because they have little water and few nutrients. They nevertheless stay a step or two ahead of decay and death because the climate also dries their deadwood. It takes them thousands of years to experience the growth, and life, that a white pine in Maine experiences in two hundred summers. Trees must be growing to be alive, but different species grow, and therefore live, at very different rates. Thus, even to a tree, both time and life are relative.”
― Bernd Heinrich, The Trees in My Forest

“At that hour of dawn Agilulf always needed to apply himself to some precise exercise: counting objects, arranging them in geometric patterns, resolving problems of arithmetic. It was the hour in which objects lose the consistency of shadow that accompanies them during the night and gradually reacquire colors, but seem to cross meanwhile an uncertain limbo, faintly touched, just breathed on by light; the hour in which one is least certain of the world's existence. He, Agilulf, always needed to feel himself facing things as if they were a massive wall against which he could pit the tension of his will, for only in this way did he manage to keep a sure consciousness of himself. But if the world around was instead melting into the vague and ambiguous, he would feel himself drowning in that morbid half light, incapable of allowing any clear thought or decision to flower in that void. In such moments he felt sick, faint; sometimes only at the cost of extreme effort did he feel himself able to avoid melting away completely. It was then he began to count: trees, leaves, stones, laces, pine cones, anything in front of him. Or he put them in rows and arranged them in squares and pyramids. Applying himself to this exact occupation helped him overcome his malaise, absorb his discontent and disquiet, reacquire his usual lucidity and composure.”
― Italo Calvino, The Nonexistent Knight & The Cloven Viscount

“I don't blame the Nepalis for wanting some of the material things they've become aware of since the 1950s when the country was opened to the West. I certainly don't blame them for wanting to improve health and sanitation. But I don't like this restless gnawing that Indu exhibits, this feeling of inferiority about his own culture's accomplishments, and his deference to me. He thinks westerners must be smarter somehow because they are from a technologically advanced culture.

Nepal is not "behind" the West. It's just in a different place. And it has much that the West is crying for: stable families that guide children into a solid identification with their society as a whole, a spirituality that pervades their daily life, and a blend between work (that's still mostly honest physical labor) and play that validates the importance of enjoying life. We should be studying them to see how we can compensate for what we've lost before they've modernized so much that they have little left to teach.”
― Barbara J. Scot, The Violet Shyness of Their Eyes: Notes from Nepal