returning from a sojourn to the south and west, i find myself flying back to the beautiful land where i live.
as we descend, my face presses close to the glass of the airplane window, soaking in the bird's-eye view i will never tire of.
i am struck by the surreal beauty of the landscape beneath me, the late light pouring over the fields and forests in the billion shades of autumn, my eyes finding their way through the patterns like a hand through a coat-sleeve.
my visual sense is brimming with the awareness of what an exquisite living being this earth is, its intricate design, an interconnected network of bio-systems complex beyond comprehension.
we presume much, i think, our attention stolen so often by the multiplying dramas that crop up, weed-like, on the small sets we build of our lives - reality ending at the boundaries of our vision.
so much passes us by, so much of genuine importance. life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans, John Lennon said. a sad commentary that too often proves true.
what does it mean to be alive? surely the answer isn't found in the shifting, never-satisfied busy-ness of our mind-made plans. life flourished long before they came along, and will for long after they leave.
no, dear friends, life is in a direction other than that.
this is why i love the artist. it's she who stokes the fire of wonder, she who honours that part of her that longs to look beyond her own boundaries, she who reaches for the half-remembered dream, emptying herself to make room for birth with the moments of her own body.
all life begins with a womb. this space is of primary importance, for without it, where will the new life grow?
we have trained ourselves to search for things, placing high values on shapes we can recognize, measure and understand, forgetting that everything beautiful begins invisibly, and everything brilliant is found in the direction of the unknown.
we grasp for and hold on so tight to that which stifles us, mistaking our collection of weights for 'life'. an honest look at the repercussions of many of our decisions quickly informs us that much of what we choose in fact is directly deteriorating not only our own health but wreaking havoc on this garden world we are blessed to inhabit and the many lifeforms that call it home.
what does it mean to be alive? when do you feel most alive? what separates you from life? what encourages your growth? what nourishes you? what steals and wastes you?
are there more important questions than these for a living being? if not, why are they so rarely considered in the scales of our decisions?
the story of our life becomes shaped by the questions we ask. when the space of our moments is consumed and filled with that which does not pertain to life, there simply isn't room for the growth cycle that life always is.
i walk through a new-growth forest near my home, astounded to notice how vibrantly alive each of the trees is, marvelling at how much they've grown since the spring. i can't help but wonder what our world would be like if humankind was as dedicated to the pure pursuit of life i see expressed so clearly around me.
from the kaleidoscope of orange and deep reds before me, i'm drawn to a particularly beautiful leaf, larger than my hand. i reach to touch it, imagining the journey it has taken to get to here. how lovely it is, here, near the end of its current existence.
i laugh as i imagine what trees would look like if they tried to hold on to their leaves as long and hard as humans might - the years and years of dead leaves, one atop the other,,,
the leaf that clings to the tree past its time never gets to experience flight, and never knows what it is to be born again, that same life losing its shape to discover itself in new shapes in the never-ending movement that life is.
as much as we resist it, it is clear that this kind of letting go is actually an integral part of receiving the gift of life.
i take a quiet moment, surveying all i carry with me. all that is not life, i release my hold on. i sigh, feeling a weightlessness as an inner wind comes, gently lifting it away.
i am left with a space, a fresh start, a clean slate. a garden bed ready for new life to discover itself.
love and life to you, dear friends *
jesh *
