As rapidly as the cedar is growing, it will be necessary before long to walk under it instead of around. We are already walking under the pine at the opposite end of the house. It too is young. Little by little, the trees are creating their own climates and conditions. For instance, the pine is already able to slow the progress of passing clouds, while the tips of the cedar intensify the blue. And both trees have voices of their own, which create the wind and breeze and silences that surround them; these, in turn, create the trees. But they are not all that creates the trees. We create the trees; and we are created by them, just as we are created by little children playing in the street. Not one of us is in possession of another. It’s impossible to tell where one of us ends and another begins. This is because there is no other. Whatever we look upon is also inside ourselves. This isn’t something we need to grasp or hold. We can try, but the effort itself keeps us a step removed. It’s like walking in the rain and thinking we shouldn’t be wet. Of course we should be wet — it’s rain!
July 6, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Blue, Cedars, Clouds, Consciousness, Diaries, Journals, Little Children, Pines, Rain