The world is in a sorry state
Because we all feel separate.
The thought that I exist within
A boundary I call my skin
And everything and everywhere
Is outside "me" and all "out there"
Is what allows a man to take
All that he can, for his own sake
While others starve and children die
And ice caps melt and rivers dry.
Yet quantum physicists agree
That there’s a whole lot more to me
Than flesh and blood and bone and brain
This little blob of joys and pain.
There is in fact another view
Of what is me and what is you:
Each atom of what I call me
Is nothing more than energy –
A ripple within time and space -
And every atom of your face
Is made from the same stuff as mine -
Vibrations within space and time -
As is the earth beneath our feet
And every person we may meet
And every stone and every flea
And every leaf on every tree
And every tear we’ll ever cry
And every star within the sky.
Like overlapping notes of sound
We dance within the cosmic ground;
One Ground, One Song, One Dance, One Sea
And I am you and you are me.
I know you know that this is true
For you are me and I am you.
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The Flower Gatherer
A man was walking through a field of flowers. His back was bent, his eyes focused on the ground, searching for the most perfect flowers: the brightest colours, the most interesting shapes, the most appealing fragrances. He selected only the very best and added them to the large bouquet which he carried in his arms.
Occasionally, he paused to look carefully at his collection, removing any flowers which had wilted or died, and then he continued on his way, choosing fresh ones to replace them.
There were other people in the field. Whenever he came close to someone else, he paused to inspect their flowers, comparing them with his own. Sometimes he saw that his were far superior to theirs and the thought filled him with satisfaction and pride, but often he found that they had a better collection, and that made him feel inferior and unhappy. At such times, he would consider throwing away the entire bunch and starting over again, but somehow he couldn’t face the thought of parting with them. They were, after all, his - and they were all he had.
He continued on for a very long time, gathering, improving his collection, until one day he met a stranger.
The man was startled by the appearance of the stranger.
“You have no flowers!” he said.
“Of course I have flowers, my friend,” said the stranger.
“Then where are they? And how can you know if I am worthy to be your friend when you have not even looked at my collection?”
“I don’t need to see your collection. I can see you. And my flowers are here, all around us. This whole vast field is full of them.”
“But you haven’t picked any!”
“Why should I?” asked the stranger. “They look better, and live longer, growing there in the soil. And I can see them whenever I choose to look at them. Individually, they are all equally special to me. And look at the field itself - how beautiful it is in its entirety.”
The stranger smiled and walked on.
The man looked just once at the flowers in his arms and then, with respect, laid them on the ground. He looked around him at the field in all its glory. He saw the other people: the stranger with his easy stride and his head held high, everyone else with arms full of flowers and heads bowed towards the earth. He looked beyond the field and saw the vast, jewelled ocean and the blue sky above. And for the first time in his life, he looked above his head and saw the sun.
Who is the man?
What are the flowers?
When did you last see the sun?
Poems
"Continually emerging, it returns again and again to nothingness
Things arise but I contemplate their return. Things flourish and grow and then return to their Source. To return to the Source is to know perfect peace. I call this a return to life.
If you are like the Tao, you will have eternal life, and you needn’t be afraid of dying."
Lao Tzu, in The Little Book of the Tao Te Ching by John R. Mabry
