Let rain be rain.
Let wind be wind.
Let the small stone
be the small stone.
May the bird
rest on its branch,
the beetle in its burrow.
May the pine tree
lay down its needles.
The rockrose, its petals.
It's early. Or it's late.
The answers
to our questions
lie hidden
in acorn, oyster, the seagull's
speckled egg.
We've come this far, already.
Why not let breath
be breath. Salt be salt.
How faithful the tide
that has carried us—
that carries us now—
out to sea
and back.
Why is it so difficult to give up old perceptions when it is clear that what we really know is only a fraction of what there is to be known? The tiny fraction we see is not the only way it is. Whenever we say, "I know it," it means that we no longer want to struggle with other ways of seeing it. But the way we once saw it may not be the way it is now. Certainly the way something is now does not determine that it will always be that way because we are, all of us, on a journey whose ultimate destination is unknown.