Ram Dass on Trees

Photo Source: Monopole

“Part of it is observing oneself more impersonally… When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree.

The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying, “You’re too this, or I’m too this.” That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”

Dark Night of the Soul

“There are times in life when the firmament of our being seems to collapse, taking all the light with it, swallowing all color and sound into a silent scream of darkness. It rarely looks that way from the inside, but these are always times of profound transformation and recalibration — the darkness is not terminal but primordial; in it, a new self is being born, not with a Big Bang but with a whisper. Our task, then, is only to listen. What we hear becomes new light.”

Maria Popova, from The Marginalian

John Steinbeck on Humans

“We have looked into the tide pools and seen the little animals feeding and reproducing and killing for food. We name them and describe them and, out of long watching, arrive at some conclusion about their habits so that we say, “This species typically does thus and so,” but we do not objectively observe our own species as a species, although we know the individuals fairly well. When it seems that men may be kinder to men, that wars may not come again, we completely ignore the record of our species. If we used the same smug observation on ourselves that we do on hermit crabs we would be forced to say, with the information at hand, “It is one diagnostic trait of Homo sapiens that groups of individuals are periodically infected with a feverish nervousness which causes the individual to turn on and destroy, not only his own kind, but the works of his own kind. It is not known whether this be caused by a virus, some airborne spore, or whether it be a species reaction to some meteorological stimulus as yet undetermined.” Hope, which is another species diagnostic trait — the hope that this may not always be — does not in the least change the observable past and present. When two crayfish meet, they usually fight. One would say that perhaps they might not at a future time, but without some mutation it is not likely that they will lose this trait. And perhaps our species is not likely to forgo war without some psychic mutation which at present, at least, does not seem imminent. And if one place the blame for killing and destroying on economic insecurity, on inequality, on injustice, he is simply stating the proposition in another way. We have what we are. Perhaps the crayfish feels the itch of jealousy, or perhaps he is sexually insecure. The effect is that he fights. When in the world there shall come twenty, thirty, fifty years without evidence of our murder trait, under whatever system of justice or economic security, then we may have a contrasting habit pattern to examine. So far there is no such situation. So far the murder trait of our species is as regular and observable as our various sexual habits.”

from The Marginalian

Vintage Trish-- Thoughts

I wonder what our society would look like, how it would feel if collectively we deified kindness, inclusion, civil justice and respect for the Earth as much as we do amassing excessive amounts of cash that no generational trust could use in a dozen lifetimes, acquiring multiple houses— uninhabited except  except for 2 weeks out of the year as millions of homeless people perish, purchasing of a lot of shit products we don’t need and having a lineless face— as life goals? I wonder what our world would look like then.

Vintage Trish

2023-- A Mysterious Road

A brand new road turns up every year 

I travel with hopes of losing last year’s fear

The surroundings are familiar, though some landmarks have shifted

It feels some heavy burdens, at this turn, have been lifted

I travel with less baggage, feel lighter than before

I haven’t lost my longing, my desire to explore

The sun hits the pavement, in this moment I can’t see

That which lays before me is bathed in mystery. 

Poetry, Tricia Schwaba

Sketch, Elliott From