"Reuven, as you grow older you will discover that the most important things that will happen to you will often come as a result of silly things, as you call them - 'ordinary things' is a better expression. That is the way the world is." The Chosen, p 107.
A boy walks through Forest. He comes to stream, where he stops momentarilly. He is young, and does not see what stream is, he only sees a break in his path. He is annoyed by stream, and brushes her aside, plowing through her without so much as giving her a second thought.
Later in his walk, as the boy is a little older now, he comes once again to stream. He does not see her as she is, yet, and he pays little heed to who she has been in his past. Once again, he plows through her.
This continues many the years of boy's journey through Forest, till he is at the advent of man. In the shedding of the skin of boy, man comes to stream. He has now become aware - not of who she is in his life - but that she is in his life. As he is shedding boy from his flesh, she laps at his ankles. He sees that she is both a constant rush against him, but also solid footing that allows her to weave in and out of view. He has learned to both love and fear her presence in his life.
As I grow older, I see things that I never saw before. As I tear away the enmeshments of instances, I see the constant stream that lies underneath. The stream may be good, and the stream may be bad.
Stream tells me of the things I don't want to realize. Stream shows me through her force that rushes past my ankles, thighs, waist, chest, and face that which I need to work on.
Stream is also the path that the water must rush. Stream is both confined and freed by the land that she herself has cut through Forest: life. Stream is not merely water that rushes through the ravine, stream is the ravine that ebbs water.
Stream's interaction with me comes through as ordinary things. Sitting on the couch, walking down a street, talking with a friend. A noise, a sight, a smell. These things are stream. She is every present, and she will persist until I no longer need her.
But that will be at the time that I leave Forest.
A boy walks through Forest. He comes to stream, where he stops momentarilly. He is young, and does not see what stream is, he only sees a break in his path. He is annoyed by stream, and brushes her aside, plowing through her without so much as giving her a second thought.
Later in his walk, as the boy is a little older now, he comes once again to stream. He does not see her as she is, yet, and he pays little heed to who she has been in his past. Once again, he plows through her.
This continues many the years of boy's journey through Forest, till he is at the advent of man. In the shedding of the skin of boy, man comes to stream. He has now become aware - not of who she is in his life - but that she is in his life. As he is shedding boy from his flesh, she laps at his ankles. He sees that she is both a constant rush against him, but also solid footing that allows her to weave in and out of view. He has learned to both love and fear her presence in his life.
As I grow older, I see things that I never saw before. As I tear away the enmeshments of instances, I see the constant stream that lies underneath. The stream may be good, and the stream may be bad.
Stream tells me of the things I don't want to realize. Stream shows me through her force that rushes past my ankles, thighs, waist, chest, and face that which I need to work on.
Stream is also the path that the water must rush. Stream is both confined and freed by the land that she herself has cut through Forest: life. Stream is not merely water that rushes through the ravine, stream is the ravine that ebbs water.
Stream's interaction with me comes through as ordinary things. Sitting on the couch, walking down a street, talking with a friend. A noise, a sight, a smell. These things are stream. She is every present, and she will persist until I no longer need her.
But that will be at the time that I leave Forest.
posted by Thinker Joe | 3:46 PM
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