And a Little Seed Will Grow

Came in from a rainy Thursday on the avenue.
I thought I heard you talking softly.
I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio,
and still I can’t escape the ghost of you.

What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some would say.
Where is the life that I recognize?

Gone away.

I do small things throughout the week and only small things despite my impulse to do something bigger, more grandiose. It’s because I have finally–finally–learned that you don’t need a big, grandiose gesture. You don’t need a Himalaya. You don’t need a redwood.

You need a seed.

Red seed, blue seed, one seed, two seed. Anything small. Anything that you can plant in fertile soil that can take root. The best things start small. They grow. You grow. You both grow together.

Or maybe not. You can plant the seed of devotion, of love, of friendship, of success. You can plant it a thousand times. That doesn’t mean it’ll grow.

I feel very, very different. Subdued, almost. More able to relax, maybe. There’s just not that anxiety there because maybe I finally understand emotional regulation, and I stopped caring about people who didn’t care about me. So I stopped caring about almost everyone. I stopped caring about what was happening out in the wider world. I’m not part of it. Never was, never will be.

But I kept trying to plant my seed out there with you, and you choked it to death. Over and over again, I desperately tried. And I guess I tried to be something I’m not. Sometimes you don’t plant your seed with others. You plant it alone, in the middle of the wilderness, surrounded by daruvana trees with the sun at a standstill high above. That’s where I am now. It is very quiet.

And I feel the seed begin to grow.

Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say,
“Pride will tear us both apart.”
Well, now pride’s gone out the window,
‘cross the rooftops, runaway,
left me in the vacuum of my heart.

What has happened to me?
Crazy, some would say.
Where is my friend when I need you most?

Gone away.

Along the way, sometimes you get sick. I think that’s what happened with me. You never stop being sick, either. You learn who your friends are.

I don’t have any friends.

It got dark all of a sudden, the world burned to ashes all of a sudden. The sun went out. The moon crumbled. Darkness blotted out the stars, as if a great serpent laid its massive coils across them. There was poison everywhere. The wind was cold.

I don’t have any friends. I am alone and free to grow as I need. This is beautiful. Stark, but beautiful.

But the fir tree is never alone on the hill for long if it wants to survive. So at some point I suppose I will have to find my people. How in the world do you know when that’s supposed to happen? Well, that’s far enough in the future I haven’t any need to think of the particulars. Right now, I need to plant my seed in the daruvana forest, let the sun shine down on it, and perhaps water it with devotion. Maybe a tree will grow.

I feel like it has to. I can feel it, like an up-swelling of love.

At the same time, I warn myself that devotion and love are not necessarily the same thing. Nor are they necessarily different things. That is, I simply don’t truly know what they are, so should be careful not to go traipsing about as if I know something. I don’t know anything for sure other than what I can observe in myself–nor do I ever intend to.

What has happened to me?
Crazy, some would say.

Where is the world that I recognize?
Gone away.

When I observe myself, I feel like I’ve found my polestar again. Or perhaps I haven’t found my polestar, but have simply learned to navigate blind. If that’s the case, then to whom is this seed of devotion growing? For whom? Should I shake a rattle, or wrap a scarf around my head? Do I or do I not eat meat? Is the shrine full of fire, or do I leave it in the moonlight?

When I observe myself, I see some clarity that wasn’t there before. It isn’t free of bitterness, anger, or any other number of supposed evil feelings, but it exists. It’s as if I took a fine sieve to the water of my mind, removed the worst of the mud, and, in meditation and regulation, the rest of it has begun to settle.

When I observe myself, I see someone with a clearer path ahead of themselves. At the same time, there’s an undercurrent of tension over future and past. The present, it seems, is already settled, so that’s where I try to stay as often as possible. If there are no lessons to be had in the past, then there is no reason to dwell there. If the current status of the present doesn’t illuminate the future at all, then there is no reason to visit the future to take pictures there. Not to say that I never stay a couple nights in the past. Nor am I saying I have never gone sight-seeing such-and-such an amount of time in the future.

I won’t cry for yesterday.
There’s an ordinary world
that somehow I have to find.

Time for supper. I’ve already made my offerings for the day, but I think I’m going to share this because it’s pretty tasty. I don’t feel obligated to do it, or as if somebody has demanded it. I just want to. A lot of problems in this world could be solved if people with nice things shared them and people without nice things stopped demanding a share.

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