Beneath this house are the roots of an old oak tree. At night, when all is quiet, I can hear these roots moving in the manner of snakes. In this way the roots bless the soil, and so the house is blessed also. Life is intricate, isn’t it? Look around, even now as you read, the world is green and in bloom.
Something rises out of the east, a new day, like an idea being formed, like a child being born. Light in the sky. Life on the earth.
Anything that can be lost was never truly ours, anything that we cling to only imprisons us.
Vincent van Gogh