Monday, October 12, 2015

From an experience while visiting my parents. Today, I decided to put it into words.

Sitting on the hard ground, more rocks than actual dirt, I watch the water in the river, except—oh waitthere 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  


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