On the last day of the world
I would want to plant a tree
Let me tell you of a dream I once had:
I awoke in my childhood home. I was alone and it was night. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again it was day but in place of the sun’s rays the sky was filled with gray light. I arose from my place of rest and went forth to care for the plants that surrounded my childhood home — the grass, the trees, the hedgerows, and the flowers. The world was still and silent. I was alone but this filled me with neither joy nor dread.
We are, none of us, completely free. We experience the limitations of the physical world we inhabit. The social and political realities of family, community, and nation bind us throughout life; some of these obligations begin before we are even born.
We live our lives at the threshold of a new reality, but instead of crossing the threshold we look continually behind, like Lot’s wife or like Orpheus. We cannot change the past in our present state, but to deny the past is to give it greater power over the present.
After the rain
There is silence
When I was young I thought I more or less understood the world and myself. At a certain moment I became aware that this was not, in fact, the case and I was overcome with fear and despair. Today I am no more enlightened than I was before and this fills me with neither joy nor dread.
In the spaciousness of this present moment possibility exists.
December 14, 2015