The barley fields have been harvested. There comes a time in life when you begin to harvest your memories and live comfortably with the wheat and the chaff.
I sat in the garden embraced by the evening light, pondering on the day’s experiences. Where does the past go? Does it simply melt away like morning mist in the rising sun, or does it pass into a mysterious, invisible and universal library to be referenced for some great, cosmic recollection; or is it destined to travel endlessly around some karmic circle repeating itself over and over again. I’m not sure, but the one thing I am sure of is that this too will pass.
i was walking in the woods and was captivated by this. I’m always humbled in the presence of a tree like this – old, wise, scarred and full of memory and experience. I wish it could speak. But then I think it does. I just don’t know how to listen.