What Takes You Away from the Electric Blue of the Morning?
All of the minutes that pass while we think nothing is changing. Crickets, season after season, in a particular temperature make themselves heard. Months pass until the last cricket sounds and then it, he, she, they are gone. Perhaps the sound I love most here – that and thunder, rain and wind. The power of those sounds and how they hold themselves. Not dramatic, actually. That is an attribute, a concept, that does not really say anything about what the essence of those things are. Their fleeting and powerful force. Here one minute, gone the next, as all things are – constantly changing. If we really understood that, we would live our lives much differently. Moment by moment is an action that very few understand, to get beyond that concept and to feel each moment pass, dropping the story that is attached to it…. The concept (s).
The crickets are those moments. They do not represent or count the moments; they are the moments. Each moment is made up of millions of breaths inhaled and exhaled by millions of beings. The trees, insects, birds, deer, cats, dogs, blades of grass, pores of the skin, houses – the moon, clouds, coral, all breathe. We think nothing changes while at the same time we accept water in all its forms without questioning rain, snow, hail, mist, rivers, oceans, fog, our bodies; we are and encounter water constantly. Our minds are water, we spend the first nine months of our lives on this planet in water. Yet we consider ourselves separate from it. We rarely recognize the land on which we walk was at one time under water.
Some fear water as if it is alien to us, when in fact all of its forms are part of who we are, and….each drop – a moment. A reflection of where we are which ultimately has no substance while at the same time creating the world in which we think we live. It is stunning all that passes that we do not realize – that we regret so desperately when it is gone because we were too foolish to realize we were in it at the moment. Everything, every thing, coming together – not colliding, but passing through one another’s existence. Clouds through the sky, light of day changing from deep dark blue to the first electric blue of the early morning sky. Animals entering each others territories. Using each others lives for their own survival. If only we would pay attention to the sun as it reacts to the oil in the needle of a pine tree – releasing a fragrance and reflecting the sun; its deep green becoming the white of the bright light of day. Each atom reacting with the other.
All of this script (all of my writing is first in long hand before it is posted) a document of the moments I am in – what passes and what no longer exists and finally, what was never real from the beginning. We are the time that we say does not exist. Journal pages, words, responses, concepts, all pass. The moments of the snaps of a teacher’s fingers to mark the students’ transition through space. Each sound reminding us that the mark of time is that there is not time. All of it a precise awareness.
What takes you away from the electric blue of the morning?