I’ve logged more experience than most with simplicity and the complexity you discover inside simplicity, minimalism and asocial behavior, endurance and landscape.
Here is the truth: I think some deep wisdom inside me (a) sensed the stress, (b) was terrified for me, and (c) gave me something new and hard to focus on in order to prevent me from lapsing into a despair coma — and also to keep me from having a jelly jar of wine in my hand.
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When I was a red-winged blackbird I knew every post and stump,
I could tell exactly when it was time to fly.
When I was a waterlily I gave all my best leaves to the pond, and my
best blossoms too.
When I was a cattail I knew my friends and my numerous enemies
by their scent and their shape and the size of their stems.
When I was the multiflora rose I found many cozy spots, I was
thorny but hip, I was nicer to the bluebirds than to the crows.
When I was the duckweed I stuck to any bird I could, half the time I
didn’t even bother with the flowers, just split whenever I got the
When I was the pond I rested for weeks on end, let the wind and the
sun do all the work, said whatever all the time.
When I was the sun I had many urgent and utopian ideas, I changed
millions of tons of this into that, I didn’t care who watched or burned
themselves blind trying.
When I was the path everybody thought they used me, but they all
went exactly where I wanted them to go.
When I was Jeff I walked some paths, sat beside ponds, listened
to songs I couldn’t name. During the eclipse I looked straight at the
sun for an instant and afterwards I could still see, though never as
clear nor as far as I dreamed.
When I was a deerfly I zoomed around everybody’s head, as if I
could persuade them my troubles were their own.