of sacred pattern.
Remember, tree's are sacred
and in their patterns, visually sacred.
A cup holds more than the eye sees. It holds light & dark.
Paper holds every word uttered. Or soon to be. Imagine that!
And a well-loved spoon is an instrument of Guanyin. Because?
Because she is ready to nourish us.
Not to be outdone by circumstance, the aching tree bends toward us, asking questions, telling stories, imparting wisdom. And as we sit beneath its shade in the falling light, we cannot help but notice the life within the leaves and branches, the implacable roots stretching out for nourishment, the smell of the earth in every cell of the bark, and the danger of fire, age, axe, drought. As we spread out the blanket and remove the beer from the hamper, all beings seem to join us from immediate eternity, and we cannot find the right place to sleep. Frightened by the unimaginable vastness of what is ours to fathom, there is thirst and hunger even as we eat and drink. This day cannot end, and yet we know it will, it does, and it does not.
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