the other day, on my walk through the battlefield, i experienced an almost zen-perfect moment of evening, as only spring can afford, when the sun was just setting and the birds were larking prettily, and the trees had that fresh greenness that is almost fluorescent in its brilliancy–you know that vivid yellow-green of new leaves, bright against the sky? yes, that. that was this one evening. i even saw (and heard) some woodpeckers. they looked so free up in the trees! i bet it is a grand view, to sit on so high a perch, and look out over the earth.
turning back over the fields, i watched the dandelions sway in the evening breeze and thought, why do these moments pass so quickly, when as a child this same second was one eternity of consciousness? when you're little, you experience everything intensely, always as if for the first time, and the impression becomes archived in your mind as nearly sacred.
i have been trying to learn the concept of meditation, but it's almost impossible to read and just experience, without intense practice. but it seems to me that a great part of meditating is to simply think as a child. and yet, children are not natural meditators–or at least, they do not naturally sit still, as much meditation requires. but there is a freshness in the mind of a child that is lost in the course to adulthood: out of necessity, naturally. but still. it is worth slightly unlearning, in order to see again–we see dimly, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. i will know, even as i am fully known.
