A generic water lily
Moments when you feel an effortless communion with nature are very rare and always transient. I had one this morning. That they are transient is obvious. They pass rather quickly but seem to stretch when you are in the their midst. It is a paradox.
Rather than staring at my old Toshiba laptop battle its arthritic operating system Windows Vista to open Live Writer, I decided to step out into my backyard. It was around 5.35 a.m. The first thing I noticed was the moon, a three-fourth moon to be precise. “Am still here,” is what I suspected the moon mumbled. It was not sharply defined but looked like an incomplete rendering by a NASA artist.
Next, I was distracted by a red squirrel high in the neighbor’s maple tree squawking. It sounded more like it was clearing its throat. With every sound, its belly shook and bushy tail curled up. Right next to it, I could see the light brown branches of the tree shining in the rust-orange light of the rising sun.
From there, my eyes settled on a fully closed water lily. It was not yet time for it to open.
Then I saw in the left hand corner of my line of vision a bird land on another neighbor’s roof. It just sat there with no particular plan. Seconds later it took off. When I turned around I saw a bunny sitting absolutely still in the grass. It was mindful of my presence but not particularly anxious. There were no threatening vibes emanating from my posture.
I absorbed these details in for a couple of minutes and stepped back into the house. This is a fairly precise description of my merger with nature. It is odd how despite being as much part of the natural scene as the moon or the squirrel or the maple tree or the rabbit or the lily, I still feel like an intruder. I don’t know what it is that makes humans look like an incongruity. It is perhaps our clothes or spectacles or slippers because none of the others had any of those on.We seem so uninvited.
Climbing down from that slightly elevated reality, as I write this post, I notice that there are many subtle layers of sentient life. It is entirely our choice which we care to dwell in. This bliss will soon be shattered by a grating reminder from a creditor about an unpaid bill. The communion will collapse and life will suck.