What remains

I hope you know the feeling. You love someone so deeply, you want to just look at them, absorbing every detail with your eyes, without hurry. You are not driven by a desire to own them, somehow, by looking, but to know them. And in knowing them at this level of intimate detail, you are lifted beyond the walls of your skin. You become more than your limited self as you ponder the mystery that is the existence of another.

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This feeling, this is what I experience as I sit at the edge of the water. I want all the time in the world to look, not at another person, but at the explosion of beauty before me. My eyes feast on the water as it moves, chased by the same breeze that ruffles leaves on nearby trees. I want to learn from the particular way the light reflects off each part of the water’s surface. I want to memorize the curvatures and lines of the rocks that dip into the edge of the lake. My eyes travel to the tip of a particularly tall pine and I know freedom lies in the truth of that silent giant right where it meets the sky and that if I could look long enough, I’d somehow learn that truth too.

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I could sit for hours, with need for nothing more than the feast laid out before my eyes. Within this feast lies not just nourishment, but lessons delivered through the poetry of life’s simplest movements and presentations. How could anyone, ever, consider themselves to be more important than anyone else if they only sat here and looked? The larger truth is written so plainly in the water, the sturdy rocks, the reaching trees – life continues. I am to life as one more drop of rain is to the lake. My presence is felt, assuredly, and will ripple. The force with which I land (mightn’t that force depend on consciousness more than push?) will determine the spread of those ripples. But, ultimately, both myself and my ripples will be absorbed by the rest.

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And so I sit and look and I do not hurry away from this lesson about existence and impermanence. Eventually, I rise, slip between pines, and fade. The lake, the shore, and the trees – they remain.

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