Man is timid and apologetic. He doesn't walk upright any more. He doesn't dare say "I think" or "I am," but instead quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed to be compared to a blade of grass or a blowing rose.
The roses under my window make no reference
to former roses or to better ones;
they are for what they are;
they exist with God today.
There is no time to them. There is simply the rose, perfect in every moment of its existence. In the unburst bud it has a full life. In the bloomed flower it has no more; in the leafless root it has no less. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, exactly the same in every moment.
But man postpones or remembers. He doesn't live in the present; he looks back and regrets the past or, blind to the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He can't be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, beyond time.
This should all be pretty clear, right? But how many sharp minds dare not hear God himself unless he's speaking the language of some David, or Jeremiah, or Paul?
We won't always put such a high price on a few books or a few lives.
We're like children who repeat by rote
the sentences of grandmothers and tutors
and, as they grow older,
of whatever charismatic leaders
they happen to meet—
painfully recollecting the exact words they spoke.
Afterwards, when the grown children mold their opinions to match those who uttered the sayings, they understand them and are willing to let the words go—they can now come up with words just as good whenever there's an appropriate occasion.
If we live truly, we'll see truly.
It's as easy for the strong man to be strong as it is for the weak man to be weak. When we perceive something fresh, we'll gladly dump the memory of those hoarded treasures as old rubbish. When a man lives with God, his voice will be as sweet as the murmur of the brook and the rustle of the corn.
Last Edited: May 03, 2000
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© 1997 Richard Brodie. All rights reserved.