Sunday, February 08, 2009
SE 6000
And as I reflect on the past days and the endless stream of thoughts, most useless, that have passed through my passive mind, I call to present...
The idea of place as a passing entity and the symbol of a tree as a great guide.
On my grandmothers 80th birthday, we all sat in smiles as family members chatted and recalled the dates, times, and places that spotted my grandmothers life history. On the subject of honey-mooning, she recalls a place and says "I dont remember the name but it no longer exists"...I think how on earth could a place no longer exist, for isnt a place just a spot in lanf that occupies space? Even if a new name graces that plot won't it still be the same place? But no; life is much more fickle and passing than that. While most places may not lie on the side of a volcanoe which erupts and forever mames what used to be a lake, ALL places are in constant motion, constant change, and never exists like they used to.
I think back to even the simplist of places, like my home which I grew up in, my first colelge dorm, or even my last place of employment. While physical, SE Pine still stands, neither the neighbors, nor the activities, feelings, ideas, plants, animals, or even friends remain. I can never go back to the home that I visit in my mind daily because it disappeared the day I left it. The only constant is change they say, and that ismple fact will forever keep me from visiting the relics of my past. They are all gone, figments of memory, simple treasures that make up the timeline of my past. Today I can visit their memorials, houses and rooms that stand as skeletons against a sea of memories. Such impermanence but what great value this grants each place we cross.
The red wine of shabat begins to dull my mind and the precision of my finger tips so I am going to writefast and impresive to get it all out. Trees; the very essence of celebration on this holy Jewish day. We eat the many fruits of trees in some esoteric connection to God and nature but all I can think of is the great significance which trees themselves hold.
When I was born, my mother and father planted an apple tree. This tree grew just as I did, reaching up towards the sun, towards that great beyond that we grasp in an attempt to be pulled up by something greater. It grows in the direction of but never touches the source of life and stands in it's short majesty proclaiming the power of growth. I too proclaim growth as each day i age, becoming a small replica of all women before me. I grow in the light of day, each day bigger yet, wiser still, yet I am loud and the tree is quiet. In many cultures trees are signs of wisdom, wisdom that comes with being ancient. Yet trees are so silent and still, quiet in their teaching ways. I want to be quiet, still and wize. And as cleche as it rings, trees bend with the wind, taking each blow as a necesary trauma, something that must be accepted as is comes. Wind is not faught but embraced, used to blow out the out leaves and edge on the new, but hte roots never move. The tree is not seen as unsettled because of its lack of fight to the might forces of nature because it stays, grounded deep in the earth that bore it.
I am fighting. Fighting so hard against all that life deals me. Each wind I bat back at, like a cat relentlessly trying to kill the inanimate string. I am wasting my force and becomeing brittle in the face of challenge. I need to bend, I need to bow like a bow of soft, furtile, young birch wood and take pleasure in the fresh breath of air that life is bringing me. It is time to be quiet, acknowledge the present, and become what I value. ¶ 10:01 PM
The idea of place as a passing entity and the symbol of a tree as a great guide.
On my grandmothers 80th birthday, we all sat in smiles as family members chatted and recalled the dates, times, and places that spotted my grandmothers life history. On the subject of honey-mooning, she recalls a place and says "I dont remember the name but it no longer exists"...I think how on earth could a place no longer exist, for isnt a place just a spot in lanf that occupies space? Even if a new name graces that plot won't it still be the same place? But no; life is much more fickle and passing than that. While most places may not lie on the side of a volcanoe which erupts and forever mames what used to be a lake, ALL places are in constant motion, constant change, and never exists like they used to.
I think back to even the simplist of places, like my home which I grew up in, my first colelge dorm, or even my last place of employment. While physical, SE Pine still stands, neither the neighbors, nor the activities, feelings, ideas, plants, animals, or even friends remain. I can never go back to the home that I visit in my mind daily because it disappeared the day I left it. The only constant is change they say, and that ismple fact will forever keep me from visiting the relics of my past. They are all gone, figments of memory, simple treasures that make up the timeline of my past. Today I can visit their memorials, houses and rooms that stand as skeletons against a sea of memories. Such impermanence but what great value this grants each place we cross.
The red wine of shabat begins to dull my mind and the precision of my finger tips so I am going to writefast and impresive to get it all out. Trees; the very essence of celebration on this holy Jewish day. We eat the many fruits of trees in some esoteric connection to God and nature but all I can think of is the great significance which trees themselves hold.
When I was born, my mother and father planted an apple tree. This tree grew just as I did, reaching up towards the sun, towards that great beyond that we grasp in an attempt to be pulled up by something greater. It grows in the direction of but never touches the source of life and stands in it's short majesty proclaiming the power of growth. I too proclaim growth as each day i age, becoming a small replica of all women before me. I grow in the light of day, each day bigger yet, wiser still, yet I am loud and the tree is quiet. In many cultures trees are signs of wisdom, wisdom that comes with being ancient. Yet trees are so silent and still, quiet in their teaching ways. I want to be quiet, still and wize. And as cleche as it rings, trees bend with the wind, taking each blow as a necesary trauma, something that must be accepted as is comes. Wind is not faught but embraced, used to blow out the out leaves and edge on the new, but hte roots never move. The tree is not seen as unsettled because of its lack of fight to the might forces of nature because it stays, grounded deep in the earth that bore it.
I am fighting. Fighting so hard against all that life deals me. Each wind I bat back at, like a cat relentlessly trying to kill the inanimate string. I am wasting my force and becomeing brittle in the face of challenge. I need to bend, I need to bow like a bow of soft, furtile, young birch wood and take pleasure in the fresh breath of air that life is bringing me. It is time to be quiet, acknowledge the present, and become what I value. ¶ 10:01 PM
