Saturday, January 29, 2011

Noon On Mars

Come with me now far from the warm and wet places we were born. Let our feet stray from the paths known to man and walk along the cliff's edge where no man has ever walked. See the shadow of the red rock against the black sky. This place is real; all things here have their own form and weight, and the shadows have knife-sharp edges. This is the dry land. Here there is no leaf, no insect, no bird. Here instead there is the quiet moaning of the wind, the rustle of dust and sand, the terrible stillness of the rock at noonday. This is the land of death where no life begins. Stand for just a moment with me at the cliff's edge and see the dry bed where no river will ever flow again. We will all come to this dry land in our time. In its arid unseen stillness we will find at last peace. In silence and stasis, under these bright hard stars, we will finally know the answer to all questions and the true shape of the Universe. In unmoving calm we will embrace all things and reunite with them.  Take a moment of this stillness, this absence of life and motion, with you today and love the life and motion that is yours that much more.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Evening In The Forest

Come to the forest with me. On the hillside is the remains of a watercourse now dry; we can walk the staircase of stones to the top, or listen to the droplets of hidden water still falling near the bottom. The dry leaves of autumn crunch beneath our feet. The smells of life, death and renewal are thick in the air like perfume or mist. Here is serenity; the fogs begin here, weaving their shrouds between the treetrunks like ghosts. The sunsets end here, burning the leaves in molten fire. Between the rising of the moon and the setting of the sun the birds cry their mourning over the death of another day. In this still time, as the lowering sun sends its bars of reddened light between the tree trunks, come to the forest with me. Breathe in the exhalation of the plants and trees. Feel the richness of the leaves and moss beneath your feet. Cease to think and to plan and begin to simply be. Come, be here in the forest with me.

Monday, January 24, 2011