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I finished The Brothers Karamazov over a dor sot bi bim bap at the mom 'n pop's behind the school and then immediately, book in hand, set of for a post-rain hike up moon hill. With Dostoyevsky's words still ringing in my ears: "Oh, young children, oh, dear friends, do not be afraid of life! . . . 'is it really true what religion says, that we shall all rise up from the dead and come to life and see one another again, and everyone, even Ilyushechka?' 'Without question we shall rise, without question we shall see one another and joyfully tell one another everything that has happened.'" With a brief pause in the rain, I clamored up moon hill, past the library, past the small obscure farming plots, and dove into the sea of wet forrest. As I walked silently upon the moist dirt and soft, wet pine needles, the air filled me as a pallet of aromas: pine needles, fresh rich soil, flowers, rain, wet cedar bark, and myriad smells I can't put a name to. Each few steps was a different smell. I was the only one on the hill. I could hear one lone bird calling in a tree above my head. All the colors were vivid against the dark brown earth and the solid, gray, rice-paper sky.
God has given us a beautiful place to live. What a shame to waste our time here. And now I remember the a mental chain I had during my hike: The word is holy. Indeed, Jesus Christ himself is known as the Word. Of course! There is such a profound power and spirit in words. For as I was reading "the word" last night, I ran across the passage stating what a shame it is to waste this life. We are here to get to know and understand God, and our own spirits. Words sent that realization into my brain and caused me to burn with the spirit, reconfirming it again on my walk today as I strolled through this little patch of earth, this terrestrial paradise, prepared at this moment for me alone. And as I walked I felt the spirit and energy in Dostoyevsky, the book I had in my hand as I walked, showing me love's beauty and life's preciousness, a cry for humanity's innate goodness. A cry for Brotherhood. I walked and breathed it all in.
Terrestrial Paradise and the Word [2003-06-07]
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