Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Do You Want To See The World Through My Eyes?
What about a world where we are nature? At birth we are chosen to become a part of the world. The wise and strong would be the ground because they have the stability and structure to support the world on their shoulders. The loving and giving would be the plants and trees, deeply connected with the foundation of the world, intimately and emotionally close with the ground, learning and growing strong with the knowledge and nourishment from the very thing that they have roots in. The more the trees learn from the ground, the more they can share it with those around them by giving gifts of shade, food and shelter, always willing to share their knowledge of the world with those around them. The free-spirited could be the wind, dancing around the world carefree and alive! Trees shake their heads as the winds play by, never stopping for shade or rest and only hearing parts of lectures that, if heard in whole, would surely destroy any chance of ever having fun again. So the trees yell short bits of knowledge to the winds and sometimes write it on a couple leaves for the them to take with them to reread later. The winds usually lose it within the first few minutes but you cannot blame the trees for trying and although the trees shake their heads they secretly admit that they wish that they were as innocent in the ways of the world. The compassionate yet world weary could would be raindrops, always crying and feeling the pain of others but never completely trusting anyone but themselves. The raindrops are very innocent in their ways of loving and understanding, never break theirs hearts for alone they are meek and timid but when together they are strong and unruly. Usually when their hearts are broken the winds are there, because the innocent can always feel a broken heart, even if it is not theirs. When the winds and rains become depressed they start a downward spiral into their grief and destroy anything in their path. You can hear them crying and howling with sorrow throughout their entire hurricane of emotions. Oceans, rivers and lakes are just rain drops that have matured and are tired of crying and mourning and wish to show their trust of the world by sharing their knowledge with the ground, seeping its wisdom into places that no other thing could reach, cracks and crevices so small that only the thoughts of raindrops can reach. In turn the ground teaches the knowledge and wisdom that the water had shared with the trees and plants. The trees and plants shout the new information to the winds as they skip by. They write so many notes that they are left naked and cold but the warmth of the good deed will keep them alive through the cold they know is coming. As the winds cartwheel through the meetings of the raindrops they pass along this new understanding of life and the world. Their stories are broken and confusing at first but one by one they comprehend the new realization that they have no idea about this thing called life and they freeze their hearts and try to kill the very world they cry. The winds become fierce and unlike their usually playful selves and the raindrops, frozen solid from their hearts, try to make everything else feel as cold as they do on the inside. They refuse to believe until they have processed every piece of data and see the proof. Only then will they thaw their hearts and become the oceans, rivers and lakes of mature raindrops who then then apologize to the ground and pass along gifts of information which they found while trying to dispute the facts of life. The ground passes the gifts along to the trees who then make as many leaves as they can to tell the winds, because this much information is going to take months to pass on. After a couple months of confusion, and raindrops not knowing whether or not to be cold, the winds get the complete story and they dance a jig with the raindrops and brings life back to the world.
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Did you hear the story about the man who walked into the ocean?
He walked in, the cold water lapping at his feet, and he didn't like it - the water was too chilly, his bones weren't ready for the shock. So he walked back to shore, and the heat of the sun warmed his neck and shoulders, his broad back. After awhile, the heat grew too much, and he thought again of the water, and how nice and cool it had been.
He moved across the beach, the hot sand burning his feet, his anchors to the world, and he started to run, to get away from the heat. He did not know why the sand chose to scorch him so.
He ran to the water, and it lapped over his feet, his ankles, then his knees, and the ocean tripped him, sprawling, into its embrace. He came up sputtering in the cold. He could stand on the bottom, the waves sliding up his chest, and he waded deeper, the water rising, and when it got to his face, in his mouth, he grew afraid, and walked slowly back to the shore.
His return trek was easier the closer he got to land, the water losing power over his legs, but he was sorry to lose the embrace of the sea. He knew the shore, knew every grain of sand, and every heated, burning step. He did not like it there, but feared the power of the ocean. It could swallow him.
He sat at the edge of the world, where sand met water, and looked out across the great, blue, unknown expanse. He sat for a long time, suns setting and rising, water rolling in close, then farther away. The sand grew hot, then cold as the seasons raced by, stiff winds flew by in winters, and cooling rains in summers, but always he looked. He looked back to land, and out to sea, and knew not what to do.
He grew older, and the more he watched the ocean, the more he feared its depths.
One day, he grew tired of looking. He had learned all he could, in his own time, about the break between sea and land. He grew more tired of looking than he was afraid of touching. The water rose to his feet, welcoming him as he stood.
He walked out, once again, into the surf, waves rising higher, and when they rose above his head, he knew he would have to change himself. He did something he'd never tried before, and let his feet rise from the sand beneath him.
He began to swim, slowly, past the breakers, out into the sea, and he swam for a lifetime, his arms strong, the sea cool, pushing him upward, welcoming him down. He swam for years, and one day, he saw land in the distance. He struck out for it, his stroke steady and smooth.
This land was different, its trees unknown, its sands sparkled in a changed light. Or perhaps only he had changed. He didn't know.
When he reached the shore, he placed his feet again on the ground, and was surprised to find he remembered how to walk. He moved along the break, this one changed from the line he had left years ago, and smiled. He had to choose again, where to go.
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