I, once again, embarked on a walk,
to clear my mind of the troubles
of the past again returning to the present;
clouding the future in yet another cloud of mist.
As this mist thinned out, I found myself
in the same garden on top of the same roof;
overlooking the streets and the life
of the same large harbor city.
I took my trumpet, and played a long, single note...
The note still held neither sorrow nor peace,
was still neither happy nor sad.
The note still held neither sound nor space,
was still neither loud nor soft.
I turned, hoping to see the same brassy glow
And sitting on the same chair was the same woman.
This time, she was without her sax,
And she came over and walked me to the edge of the roof.
She took a long, deep, slow and solemn breath, and began to speak...
(We looked out to look back...)
“Notice the sun setting, dropping over that last hill. That’s a sign that everything must eventually and always come to an end, yet at the same time it also means that other things are simultaneously beginning, replacing what has just ended. No matter how hard we try, we cannot see over and past the next hill in front of us. Why do we waste so much time and effort trying, when there is so much to see in this valley? For example, the building right across the street, close to us, we can see the smallest of detail, down to the individual bricks. The farther out we look, however, we see less detail. Take a look at those lights far away. We can only guess what they are shining upon, and even then there is a good chance our guess is wrong. In the same way we can only see what we allow to be close to us – distant things involve nothing more than what we perceive them to be: we can’t tell whether they’re rich or poor, happy or sad. When we take that closer look, we are usually surprised by what we see.
(...looked back to look out...)
“Notice the water of the harbor, and how still it appears without any wind. Yet when the wind blows, the water becomes choppy and disturbed. However, no matter whether there’s a force blowing against it or not, the water still flows towards its goal. When we have a windy day, our first instinct is to stand still, or turn our backs to the wind, and wait until it slows down before we try to move on. Now notice how the rain is falling, washing the dirt off the streets. Even though we try to clean the streets ourselves, sometimes only a storm can wash off whatever dirt we’ve missed.
(...looked down to look up...)
“Notice how the city lights spread out, away from the center. Also notice that the buildings did not reach for the sky until there was no other room to spread outward. We stick to one elevation or level until we are forced to move up. In contrast, look at that tree. It naturally grew as high as it could get, and only then did it begin to spread outward at its highest level. That tree, and the grass and flowers, even in the dark of night, are still alive. Notice how we turn on lights to protect us from the dark. We turn to the outside and other sources to see in darkness, yet there are always two available sources: the light from the stars, and the light from within ourselves. If every source of outside light were to disappear, would not our own eyes adjust?
(...looked up to look down...)
“Notice the shooting stars up above: if you glance away for one second, you’ll probably miss that spontaneous moment of excitement. We sometimes spend months looking for one, but we concentrate impatiently on viewing the entire night sky, instead of concentrating patiently on one area. And finally, notice this fog. Although you cannot see through it, it does have an end. With enough patience and time, it will disappear...disappear...disappear...”
...and as the mist cleared, I found myself
back on the lonely small-town street,
back from the past and the future,
and into the present.
I looked back to see the sun rise over the hill behind me...
...and I looked forward to see the moon setting over the hill in front of me.
