Sitting on the hard ground, more rocks than actual dirt, I
watch the water in the river, except—oh wait—there is no water there is a drought.
I look out to the dry riverbed, birds a fluttering in every which way, I wonder where
they fill their drinks and I smell the strong shrubs of the canyon hills.
I see a long irrigation pipe scroll across from bank to bank
and beyond. I feel the words blow through my head, they sound like something my
dad would say “unfortunate that has to be there.” It’s not bad that a pipe lies
across the ground, just unfortunate because it would be so nice if it were only
willow shrubs, packed dry earth, grey and white river stones and the vibrancies
of birds.
A realization sets in motion and I feel the truth, the real
truths that emit their essence only when there is a moment like this. I feel
it. I hold the sensation, I hold it and flow it across my very face and body
and inner piece that so often is diluted and submerged in disillusion of where
and what is clear.
Philosophy is for the one in the wilderness, impossible to
be seen surrounded by concrete roads and brick buildings. You can still analyze in
the vivid culture of modern world, but no philosophy can be extreme enough to
be true unless you are in the open scape of no human.
I look carefully, I know my eyes can see, just for a brief
segment of time, I want to know, I trust I will pull what I need out from this
moment and I will carry it with me to the typical world I mostly toil in. I see
clearly, we are not all one. That common misconception is so close that it can
be muddled and stated as a truth. I wait for more; I know it is on the tip of
showing. We are each a square or a perfect small piece of a giant whole. I feel
that small piece that I hold up, if I clean my piece and make with it what I
can, I will affect this giant one. I am not responsible for the other pieces.
I gather myself, I walk the fifty yards to a fresh sage
plant and collect a bouquet for my good friend who had requested such. I feel
my brother in my heart. I pick each twigy branch and feel the tie, the gift,
the thankfulness, the complete of him, then my sister and myself.
Sage has an intensity, fresh off its rugged stems, that wafts
and penetrates more than any other plant I can bring to mind. I carry that
powerful smell with me as I climb into an outdoor shower not far from where my
kids are sleeping. As the water pours directly down—not at an angle
but straight from above, like a waterfall from the heavens—I shut my eyes and
sustain the beauty of what I have witnessed.
~ Marica
