We are miracles of being. We are packets of life that burst
into a world that is often unprepared for us, although it is furnished with the potential to serve all our needs.
As adults, perhaps we spend too much time weighing the
potential of life to serve us, while not enough time in service to that integral
nature that sustains miracle upon miracle, and has done since opposite somethings began to attract, in those
first unprecedented moments of creation.
For sentient individuals, this span of existence, in
whatever form we take, is so brief and brutally free, while filled with such
inexplicable beauty in each moment that is our now, I wonder why any person
would isolate themselves in the virtual.
Reality and realism are a calling. Immersion in what-is, above what-can-be, is an essential landscape I fear is missing from the
lives of many. This is not to say that what-can-be
is unimportant or missing from the world. What-can-be
lies within a limitless field of creative potential.
Sadly, most people frame their lives, whether they will
admit so or not, within prisons of what they deem are “inevitabilities.”
Mortality aside, nothing is inevitable. Therefore, all things are possible.
What-can-be could be seen as that which you grow in your
garden. What will your garden contain? What will you grow? From whence shall
the seeds be harvested? How often will you water the young seedlings that
sprout after you have the seeds you have acquired? What culture will you grow?
How will it impact the world?
These odd questions are vital, yet rarely directly addressed
in our upbringing—the upbringing that shows us primarily how life must serve
us. Parents too seldom pass to their children the knowledge of culture—where
it comes from and how it is perpetuated—beyond the mere experience of it; I think, sometimes, we haven't learned all that is required to bring culture to birth and nurture it; to
build and maintain it; to pass it on to its next conservatorship.
To think this way seems beyond so many people. Artists
perhaps, may have the greatest potential and sensitivity to the philosophical
implications of life in service to beauty. Too many others feel that sort of
dedication is someone else’s domain and responsibility. Too many others believe
that culture is and should remain free,
and by that they mean, existing without
investment. Somewhat like parents who expect schools to train their
children to be good people, yet invest nothing or little in seeing to that themselves. Somewhat
like people who decide how to vote based on what they read in checkout counter
tabloids or what they see on Fox News.
Is this how the garden grows, the garden of you and of all
of us?
From one impulse through many impulses, from one voice
through many voices, from one set of hands through many sets of hands, your
life flows. Infinite messages flow through all your experiential pathways. To
which and to how many shall you respond? And what will be the result of that
response or interaction?
Life is a series of callings within the single, yet
infinite, garden of being. Yours is to choose. “Life is all about choices,” a
friend once reminded me.
The paradox of life is that it supports you while you support it.
How will you nurture what has nurtured you? This is a vital
question, a real question.
Everything depends
on your answer.
