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Sun on my face. My bag with Jinsoon's present flops and crackles as I walk. It's a present of Winnie the Pooh stationary--a thank you for her gifts to me: My people and country have taught me well how to DO. Jinsoon and her people have done well to introduce to me how to BE. The sky is wide and blue and clean. Big birds with engines command my hearing and interrupt my thoughts and attention from time to time. Their sounds fill me with a sense of freedom: a green lawn under my back, an ocean overhead, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. To just BE. A summer afternoon of jets, sunshine, and water bottles. "Ah," I think. "So this new spring and emptiness of mind and spirit aren't limited to Utah or my youth. It's a forever feeling." But easy to lose if you're not a seeker. If you don't stray long enough or often enough from your given task, duties, ceremonies, monontonies. Unless you create a space to see the sky in, a place to feel the sun in. As I walked up the hill this morning, I remembered that nothing is unrecoverable. A day, even, is rarely lost. A marriage. A friendship. A body. A life. Oh, tis tragic--the mind of my youth tends to give up too quickly. It crumples up what it considers unsatisfactory results. Like my ABCs homework. My math homework. My drawings. My poetry. My songs. My relationships. Thinking that a little smudge or smear or mistake has ruined them, sending them in pieces directly to the garbage. But not today it won't. No way. I'm older now and learning that smudges and eraser marks and bleeding pens are all a part of the whole genius. The point is to just keep writing. To just keep creating. To just keep living. The good will out, unless I stop it up with my insistence on results. No, today pine trees greeted me as I strolled, knowing I was a friendly wanderer in much need of their stillness. Spring gave me muddy feet to remember her by. And the city beneath me, the rows and rows of tall concrete, looked shiny, even. Brightened by the weekend's rain, today's sun, and the trees that frame them. Trees are kind like that. Rather than revealing the ugliness of concrete by contrast, they make it all a little cleaner, a little nicer, just by their presence. They choose to compliment rather than expose our oftimes ugly handmade world. Trees and Concrete [2048-02-19]
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