and Jesse said…
I used to write silly poems,
like Shel Silverstein
and we’d read if we wanted to
and I would read my poems
as they made everyone laugh.
i remember watching Jesse do their homework, writing these hilarious, sarcastic, literal, sometimes aptly absurdest responses to the questions.
and I remember watching Jesse erasing their creative genius to write in the ‘right’ answers that they knew the teacher wanted.
this upset me a lot more than Jesse.
generally I don’t really trust man made things the way I trust trees.
when I look at trees I see myself climbing them.
“oh, that would be a fun way of climbing it.”
if you say tree, I’ll think climbing.
if you say ferris wheel, I’ll think ferris wheel.
i just sat at the base of the long reaching branch of the old wolf oak. thinking about beauty, and truth, and nothing. i didn’t really listen to Jesse and Lily’s conversation. i listened to another conversation, a conversation that their voices happened to catch a couple shadows of.
occasionally, beneath Lily’s questions, and Jesse’s answers, i could hear those big quiet questions and those big quiet answers. Those denizens of a seekers search for meaning.
those questions and answers that lead to, well, everything and/or nothing, and/but always an affirmation of faith in the Mystery.
you know that big quiet conversation?
the one you only know through feeling. the one where connections, experiences, relationships, lifetimes – flow into another. and every other.
the questions and the answers,
and, after a time,
up in the tree, I didn’t even know it was raining.