Strangely Familiar

Two nights ago, I had the rare opportunity to look up and see the stars. Millions of them. They dappled the night sky like wayward sprays of silver paint. As I craned my neck back to try to see them all at once, a few winked wryly at me, reminding me of the many things I do not know and the many places I have not seen. They seemed to ask, “What have you learned, child?” and “Where will you go?” As they inspire us to reach, so these stars also humble us, chastise us for keeping our own lights on too bright such that we cannot see their luminosity. We are so bathed in the halogen glows of our own making that we cannot see that pure fire that surrounds us, the wisdom available to us, the beauty beyond us. (Thierry Cohen from Paris says, "Get out of town!")

Friends, I am constantly in awe (read: shock) of our ability to acquire, to possess, and to surround ourselves by things. I am also constantly torn between my own egotistical desire to own things and my higher desire to minimize, simplify, and become unattached. In another lifetime, perhaps I could live as a monk would, with few possessions and few earthly needs beyond basic sustenance. For now, I am still drawn to mindless entertainment and material acquisitions. Still, I offer my dream, my ~Two Cents~ Perhaps I've no right to speak Having been born in the spring of life Grown up in the summer And never having known a fall or winter, But I find it ever so strange how we do What we do with a face of false confidence of quiet hibernation And march like ants toward our certainties without even being able to look them in the face. For our brood we acquire ever larger houses Stock them full of trinkets and comforts. Things we may never use in our life times ... just

Friends, After an interminable time, I finally found myself in nature again. I was able to soak up as much of the wild as my body could handle- and it was the most delicious feeling. I also find myself writing here again after a too-long hiatus. Maybe writing is like my woods; maybe my creativity is inspired only by nature, and I must go back into the wild to find it again. Here, I share a writing that reflects the joy I find in the simple act of being outside: ~Finding the Woods Again~ By Poonam Desai Yesterday, I walked through our woods, And found our names carved into the river stones. The pile of logs that housed our whispered conversations Still stands home to the spiders and ants We had long forgotten. The pitcher we used to water our garden Has since been reclaimed by the forest moss and vines. Time is far slower in this grove of trees And though we left years ago, it holds our magic yet. Do you recall When we played tag at the foot of the hill? H