#robertfeist

What should I write for Earth Day, this celebration of our mutual mother, our blessed mother, oceans and mountains, plants and trees, and all the animal life. When I close my eyes, I see a path leading back in time to the dawn of life on our planet. All the generations of mother, father, and child for millions of years, and here I am typing away on this crazy box of light so you can get a peek into my mind. I can sense all those generations, the pain of birth over and over, the feeding and caring. When I sit back and get in touch with what I’m trying to say, the thought that permeates my whole being is there’s no separation. 

We all eat a diet of plants and animals our whole life, and we can’t go more than a moment without sucking a breath of air. I can feel my feet on the floor, this floor of wood, a tree not so long ago, and the shirt on my back, cotton fiber, oh yeah, and the cup of tea I’m sipping. It’s beyond comprehension that we would dedicate only one day in April to honor our Mother Earth, and it’s not even a federal holiday. When it comes to celebrations, it doesn’t even rank up there with Halloween. So maybe today, let’s all go for a walk and look at the clouds and feel the sun on our collective faces, and if you get the urge, maybe even whisper a heartfelt thanks.   

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I arrived at the scenic overlook just before noon. A low-hanging cloud left the view a bright emptiness, a deep pillow of infinite white, a scene of nothing. I imagined the expansive view I’d seen numerous times, but for some reason, the emptiness felt more satisfying. Nothing to view let my mind relax, nothing to appreciate, nothing to hold on to, and nothing to remember, a level of peace beyond escape from the daily grind, just the fresh smell of ocean with a hint of coffee and bacon, the sound of steaming milk, and the slight movement of cool air drifting around my head.

“It might be one of those days,” the tourist said as she stepped up to the view, “and you’re not going to change it.” Accepting nothing is something. No one stayed long, and no one cared to sit at the coveted tables next to the view. So I sat close and ate an egg sandwich and enjoyed the nullity. I was going to write in my journal, but there wasn’t much to say. I took twenty-three photos of the view trying to get the perfect shot. And it was nice, no crowd, light jazz playing in the background, a soft mist falling, and a hint of sun working its way through to expose the view and put an end to nothing. 

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