Creation, destruction.

Sometimes the Earth seems to me a rapid rising and falling…I see pieces of steel and glass flying upward to form a building, terrible shaking ripping earth jutting upwards thousands of feet a second, a mountain rising, trees growing, tendrils of green and explosions of magenta blossoms and then, accompanied by a fast “foomp” sound, I see dust the color of charcoal lingering in the air where everything that was created has crumbled. Empires, oceans, entire worlds, all that is great, rising and then imploding, vanishing, vaporizing, compressing into a nothingness of history. The wave of creation and destruction circles the planet, always the surging rise and the fall back again into the dirt and ash from whence it came. As I watch this play of creation and destruction I sense a great power, the power that flows through each rolling wave as it rises, and then in the instant it is all leveled to a fine blackish dust that sits with a finality and massiveness on the air. When it stops I wake up and I’m watching the sunset and sharing the afternoon with some neighbors, the chickens are scratching the dirt in amongst the pumpkins.

Today I’ve made a new friend, some of my other friends are moving away, partnering, drifting apart, a new community is rising, an old friend is a month from giving birth to her first child, she tells me she longs to know her daughter, that she’s ready for the relationship to change form, and I think to myself with a smile, soon enough your daughter will be off at college and with a “foomp” you and I will be feeding the earth worms.

Tonight I saw all those I’ve ever known under one big sky, my friends from all over the world at this moment, sleeping, eating, walking, making love, going to work, in the process of living and dying, seeing the dawn as I see the dusk, along with my ancestors ashes and bones, all of us together under this rising grey, yellow, and blue sky. And the leaves hanging down from the trees in the yard, they hang in strands like lights or tiny crisp black plates, their color no longer visible, only the pattern of their movement, they shift subtly in an imperceptible breeze, they brush against each other, they separate slightly, roll slowly. A breath. Life stirs.

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