The Consciousness of Stones

Hours pass staring into winter fields from the car window, witnessing moments no one else has seen – a black cat crouching between old corn stalks, deer far, but not too far, from the roadside, last fall's crops flooded with winter-melt in such a way that the landscape becomes alien. In no time really, my feet will know the dewey coolness of summer grass at night. The trees will un-clench and the ground will give way to the fruit of our efforts. And yet, in this moment, with these eyes of gray, a deep sorrow anchors all anticipation.

I can hear your voice, “sorrow is the perception of lack, and you lack nothing.” Yet, there are empty fields before me, flooding and icing, instead of being filled by radical self honesty, the resistance to penetrate the essence of things in order to understand themselves. I push and invite and present; still, so many choose to remain hidden or fragmented, with the consciousness of stones. There is some sort of lack of seriousness in this pursuit which leaves me, as an observer and companion, with a gaping sense of bafflement and emptiness.

I miss what blazes and burns before the melt into soft, luminous knowing. And in this biting sorrow, I cultivate freedom, from attachment, from cultural convictions, from automation of our mechanisms.

So then, soon enough, even sorrow will give way to that summer night feeling. A path has been given that cannot be outrun or ignored. More rightly said, there is no path, but how else can one convey the loss of independent will?

Around 4 a.m. I pad into the kitchen to make tea. This is the only time left to read and write, and even then, the dog wants my attention. It's time to go again . . . I feel the shallows creeping up my legs. Soon, it will be hard to breathe.

In this dark, I recalled her choir singing Geistliches Lied, Op.30, as I flooded my mask with tears in the full auditorium. A cascade of “Amens” took me deeper than cannabis or prayer or thought of tasting your kiss for real this time. Well, maybe not that last one, because God lives there.