I wish the world was full of simple wonders for me. To marvel at a tree, not for photosynthesis and things of the like, but for its august stance, its many-coloured robe, rough skin and roots. If I stretch my memory far enough, I can recall my first real, startling scientific revelation about trees. Everyone who lives far enough north or south of the equator has witnessed the leaves annual change of suit and descent. Although incredible, this is something I’ve experienced since my pre-memory. This ‘fall’ is part of the natural rhythm of nature, so is not what startled me. It was the rings inside. A marker of age, health, climate. The way this information is embedded in the rings of a tree, like grooves on vinyl or bits on a dvd (to be current!).
Then I start thinking to myself – be weary of rings, for they bind you. Any kind of ring is binding by its very nature. We imbibe the ring with deep meaning or beauty, in which we can enthrall ourselves and forget about the being bound aspect of it.
Bound is another one of those words whose various meanings conflict. In the simplest phrase – one’s bounding (leaping) is bound (restricted) by gravity and it is bound (destined) to be this way. Discombobulating is not something that can be combobulated, and it’s somewhat upsetting. What happened to the combobulate? Maybe it implied too much hope and was therefore struck from the official record.
What came first – the desire (long) or the distance (long)? They both imply some sort of gap between ourselves and something we want, one emotional and the other physical, one destiny and the other destination. Destination sometimes sounds like the digestion of destiny.
“Oh man…I have some bad destination.”
And I guess the destination is the consumption of destiny…if you get to where you were destined to be. Anyways…it’s becoming clear that I don’t really have a destination for this post, in mind or in sight.
I began with the thought of my three year old daughter, who wanders and wonders at everything around her. I sometimes find myself melancholic over the loss of that simple wonder. When I really think about it though, I realize that as much as my world is full of complex and often incomprehensible wonders, it is still ripe with the simple ones as well.
I have brought this full-circle and within this ring I have bound some meaning.