Green carpet stretches over the horizon. It masks the coarseness of a field and shows off how the grass sway with the wind and how the field be a real carpet that gives prestige to the singing crickets and playing dragonflies and hopping grasshoppers and laughing butterflies and dancing bugs. At the far-end of this field is a downward slope; rocks lie before the bed of sands--yes, the seashore. Waves come rushing, as if they are trying to push and crash and wrench these rocks. Their success, no one knows when. This is the cry of the sea that is most vividly heard at night, when the moon and stars hum the lullaby of the naiads; this is the cry that is most silent when the abyss that lies in the vast realm of the ocean swallows the sun but never reflects its light. And this is a million-worth painting of world's perfection yet at the same time a trashed faded picture of imperfection.
With the sparrows on cherry trees and the eagles contouring the boundless sky, drowning themselves on puffy flowing clouds, I sit on the open window of my room and watch the changing world. And I steal glimpses on life--a subject that takes not only on what the eyes could see on the surface but on what both the mind and the eyes could grasp beyond.
Rumination of Existence is about almost everything life hands human beings-- and is always in duality. It presents primarily the ugliness and beauty of creation. And, yes, this is human view of life itself.
True, life is twisted...croaked...unpredictable. More often than not, we hate it. We are led to roads we have never imagined or even wanted of traveling. We feel cursed when things do not turn out the way we wanted them to be, when they threaten our ego, when they go against our favor. And we usually seek for something or someone to blame. Then when we cannot hold on any longer, we conclude that the world [and everything that goes with it] is so ugly and life has always been so bad and we are its victims.
Man has feet but he cannot walk.
Man has hands but he cannot hold.
Man has ears but he is deaf.
Man has eyes but he is blind.
Man has heart but he is numb.
Man has mind but he cannot understand.
Man has life but almost everyday he dies.
Or is he just too good an actor and these are all shams?
Man is not the perfect image of Life for life has no image but itself. He must think of the minnows in ponds, the dolphins in seas, the birds in clouds, the antelopes in deserts-- they all breathe oxygen. And the flowers in gardens of the Forest bloom through that power that makes animals and human live. All of these, like human, shelter life in their veins.
Rumination of Existence is a human, a naturalist, a patriot… and anything (or anyone) you want it to be.^^,
__iann
14Aug08
