Gathering Moss

Magnified tenfold, the complexity and detail of a single snowflake took me completely by surprise. How could something as small and ordinary as snow be so perfectly beautiful?

Has the power of our devices led us to distrust our unaided eyes? Or have we become dismissive of what takes no technology but only time and patience to perceive?

With sophisticated technology, we strive to see what is beyond us, but are often blind to the myriad sparkling facets that lie so close at hand. We think we’re seeing when we’ve only scratched the surface.

They remind me to remember that there are mysteries for which a measuring tape has no meaning, questions and answers that have no place in the truth about rocks and mosses.

There is an ancient conversation going on between mosses and rocks, poetry to be sure. About light and shadow and the drift of continents.

The rocks are full of intention, a deep presence attracting life.

Even the changes make familiar patterns, like the marks of waves on the sand, the way the lake can go from flat calm to three-foot rollers, the way the aspen leaves sound hours before a rain, the way the texture of the evening clouds foretells the next day’s winds. I find strength and comfort in this physical intimacy with the land, a sense of knowing the names of the rocks and knowing my place in the world.

The name on our lips reveals the knowledge we have of each other, hence the sweet secret names we have for the ones we love. The names we give ourselves are a powerful form of self-determination, of declaring ourselves sovereign territory.

What are the conditions that foster diverse communities rather than isolated individuals? The question is very complex for mosses, let alone for humans.

While the jungle was overwhelmingly exotic, I was haunted by a sense of having seen it all before.