Gentle Observation

The morning glory —
another thing
that will never be my friend  – Basho

The heavens declare the glory of God,
the firmament shows God’s handiwork.  – Psalm 19

The rock sitting in the heaving surf is the size of a V-8 engine. Incessantly, the sea throws cylinders of water at it, and the rock retaliates with explosions of white foam.

But perhaps I’m mistaken about this relationship. At times the sea is a wild-haired, many-breasted goddess; and the rock is a minor prophet, surrounded by parchment, opening ancient scrolls, holding them up one after another.

I come here often. I sense something spiritual. Yet the sea has no need of my friendship. It rises, full of mystery, and recedes, offering a brief slip of perception. The rock stands alone, watching. It has never asked me for directions. It has no need for my greedy observations, which every day, turn up wrong.

But one day I came to the rock, blind. That is, my eyes were on the sea-leaning cedar farther up the beach that carried twenty resting gulls. I was deep within their feathers and the tireless tree when I felt the slow energy of the rock, a kind of hum, perhaps the plainsong of life’s entangled currents — and between me and the rock and the sea, there was no break.

It was good to be given this true thing. And as with all true things, it held no command that one should carry it home and make a religion. Instead, I felt assured it would find me, again, when I was ready.