It’s spring time, and the weather is great, it’s practically the only time you can go outside, because it gets so hot and humid. Even if there is a slight breeze, it’s still hot, as it brushes up your neck…people out here call it "devils breath".
The best time for a nice walk is around dawn.
Well, the other day as I was walking my dog, Brandy along a wooded trail near my home, far from the brutal noise and vulgar cities and societies put together by man.
As we walked along there was a sense of great quietness, you could almost hear the sound of the earth, right under our feet.
It felt as though everything was enveloping onto, and into itself. As we continued, not disturbing the things of the earth around us, the bushes, the trees, and the birds, suddenly round a bend there were two small birds playing with each other in their own way. All of a sudden one bird took off in one direction, and leaving other bird flapping its wings.
As we walked along there was a sense of great quietness, you could almost hear the sound of the earth, right under our feet.
It felt as though everything was enveloping onto, and into itself. As we continued, not disturbing the things of the earth around us, the bushes, the trees, and the birds, suddenly round a bend there were two small birds playing with each other in their own way. All of a sudden one bird took off in one direction, and leaving other bird flapping its wings.
It was just suspended in air, going nowhere.
It kept trying, flapping its wings even harder. Still going nowhere as it’s only gets more and more fatigued. As if it was waiting for some “thing” to give it new direction.
All of a sudden as the wind started up, and a gust shot under its wings, and like a surfer, it was riding the wind, it flew out of sight onto its new course, as if it knew that with the slightest change of direction, it can start a new journey that should be easier or even effortless.
I was paying so much attention to the birds that I hadn’t noticed much else. We were upon a fork in the road, a crossroads. I hadn’t been this far down, so I wasn’t sure which path to take.
I had started to think of my own path in life, and since my blog was a reflection of my state of mind, I pondered on the direction I had taken with it. Not that I believe any journey is negative, there are just better paths. I kind of felt like the bird…struggling with the wind, and waiting for the uplifting breeze to give me a new direction.
The wind was intrusive, and lended itself to the trees to the left, and that grabbed my attention, since the other path didn't seem so fair, it didn't have any shade. I knew the sun would be laughing at us soon. Brandy ran ahead, towards the trees, leading the way as I followed along.
As I looked up, the path climbed high over the hills. I could hear a stream gently murmuring down the side of the path; there was an infinite dignity and beauty that no man could achieve. All sorts of creatures had identified themselves along side the stream. They were home.
As I looked up, the path climbed high over the hills. I could hear a stream gently murmuring down the side of the path; there was an infinite dignity and beauty that no man could achieve. All sorts of creatures had identified themselves along side the stream. They were home.
Why is it that we are always trying to identify ourselves by our race, by our culture, with those things which we believe in, some mystical figure, or some savior, some kind of super authority?
Identifying with something seems to be the nature of humanity.
One wonders why this craving, longing, for identification exists. One can understand the identification with one's physical needs - the necessary things, clothes, food, shelter and so on. But inwardly, inside the skin as it were, we try to identify ourselves with the past, with tradition, with some fanciful romantic image, a symbol much cherished. And surely in this identification there is a sense of security, safety, a sense of being owned and of possessing. This gives great comfort and security, in a form of illusion.
Man apparently needs many illusions.
We finally reach the top, our destiny, our dawn. The noise of the day has not begun and everything is quiet. There is something special about the sun arising; a strange quiet light. As the dawn slowly looses it’s grip on the covering of the earth’s strange stillness, the tops of the hills were getting brighter and the sun was kissing the place where the gold meets the blue.
As Brandy and I climbed down the paths, I began hearing the noise of the earth, the crickets, the cardinals and other birds began their morning worship songs of the day. As the sun arose I felt the breeze of light fill my thoughts. I completely forgot myself. My psyche felt empty from its struggles and its pains.
As I walked back down the path, there was no sense of separateness, no sense of being even a human being.
The morning fog was gathering in the field at the beginning of this days journey. The closer we got to the bottom and more thick, it became. As I walk through the valley of the shadow of …no I’m just kidding.
The fog is so thick I begin to see the idiocy of my own life. The fog begins to lift, and I notice the winds have calmed to a murmur. As quickly as the fog arises, it takes with it the sounds of the insects, the songs of birds.
We reach the streets, shops, and the glory of the dawn has fast faded.
So you begin your daily life, most caught in a routine, caught in the habit of work, the contentions between man and man, the divisions of identification, the division of ideologies, the preparations for wars, your own inward pain and the everlasting sorrow of man.
Stand still, and wait for the wind, to help change your direction.
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