The beauty here is almost unsettling because it feels so much better than the places and feelings in the city. On my drive up here today I recognized in myself that everyday all I touch is plastic and human "invented/constructed." I know nothing of real value in the world: I don't know the birds that live in the trees that aid my breath; I don't know the touch of the soil that grows the plants and food or sits empty while awaiting/rejuvenating; I don't know the way the water flows or what is upstream or down or how deep or what the bottom would feel like on my toes; I don't know the touch of the skins of the trees; I don't know the people that live in the homes next to mine; I don't grow any of my own food; I don't know how to construct art from the beauty of the earth's materials like how to use the vibrant purples of beets to color the lambs wool or how to take a fallen tree and make a canoe or table or chair. There are so many things I long to know and so much I know that is empty and meaningless-that will fade and destroy us.
The one true thing I do know is love. I know the love of the sunshine and the wheat stalks and the stones on the edge of the lake. I know the love that I feel pulsing in me waiting for the world to be right and free; free for all beings for the wind and the leaves, the wolf and the fox, the eagle and the stone, the reeds, cattails, grass and insects. Free for the women who love women, for for the men who are sensitive, free for each of us. Free.
This is my hope for the world.
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