The Nature of Us

This piece is one in a series of responses to “What If…” that we are posting this week.

If I understood that I am one with you and you and you, how would I listen?

As you have no doubt noticed, people are eager to talk but reluctant to listen. Why would you need to hear another’s opinion when you already know the answer, and have reached it alone and self-sufficiently? Indeed, other people are incredibly stubborn, and refuse to see the truth, even when it is so clear and obvious that you are right. A herd is made up of individuals; when you see that you are walking towards a cliff, you have to move in another direction and try to get enough people to follow you to avoid complete disaster.

This piece is one in a series of responses to “What If…” that we’ll be posting this week.

If I understood I was a cell in a body, how differently would I speak?

Words spoken between red blood cells are not secrets. Muscle cells are firmly attached to each other: their words resound throughout the body until somewhere, in the rotation of a hip, in the flexing of an arm, what was spoken will speak itself again. There is only one conversation that we continue to advance. Our words split and multiply, they flow as blood through veins and make up tooth enamel.

If I understood I was a cell in a body, how differently would I speak?

If I understood that I am one with you and you and you, how would I listen?

If I could see the invisible energy that connects us all, then what would my morning be like and then my afternoon and evening?

Dear Friends,

This website has been up for two weeks now. We’ve had some wonderful feedback, and we feel very encouraged by the response and engagement from all of you. Upon reflecting together, we thought we would reiterate (as noted on our “About” page) that the work presented here is the fruit of a discussion group that we hold every Friday night, and that if any of you are interested in taking part in this process, you are more than welcome to join us in person.

Regarding the anonymity of these pieces, our intention was not in any way to curb the conversation about the work through comments and questions. Rather, we were hoping that you (and we) would feel freer to speak directly to the ideas explored in the writing and the craft of the pieces.

That said, if any of you would like to speak with the author of a piece directly, you can email us at authors@natureof.us, and we would be happy to put you in touch.

Sincerely,
The Nature of Us

I roam over these maps in search of my next destination, calibrating the time zones and coordinates with the rhythmic beating of my own heart trying to adjust itself to where it will land. But no matter how long I stare at the curves of these continents, I cannot trace the path of my Beloved… the longitude of my true longing… or the altitude of my joy.

Roaming at dusk, in the fragrant meadow of the twilight, we speak of our hopes. Five years ago they were fanciful, Disneyland hopes that we would utter bombastically into the darkness, feeding off each other, trying to outdo each other with how outrageous we could be. Squealing and shrieking with laughter we would discuss the gorgeous men we would marry, our dream careers that would both make us a lot of money and allow us to save the world, and the amazing philanthropic projects that we would initiate together. We were sure that we would be able to accomplish all of these things and more if only we worked hard. We were blissfully unaware of the traces of self-love that tainted the hopes we expressed. We were dimly aware that many individuals that had achieved the hopes that we desired were miserable, but yet we still dared to hope them. We never looked beyond the horizon of our hopes to the steps that we would take to realize them, and as such our hopes quickly became dreams and floated away into the darkness.

Prayer meeting ended. Sun went down with golden sky. Writing now.

The geese are flying, Watched as the V split in two, one side leaning west to the sun and the other east to the water. The paths home changed, but home stayed in the same place with the same candle.

Bursts of inspiration shoot from that in-between place
Tying my heart to my mind
I see them flicker and blaze like lighted wicks
But like wicks they too extinguish and becomes hard to find

This inspiration is the influx of my heart
Brimming and overwhelming all perceptive senses
And yet it is flawed and soon expires
Because it is mine and no one else’s

I realize that my nature
Does not exist to stand-alone
My heart too is not
To be possessed and to be owned

Did I remember everything? Bulghur, sardines, greens. I’ve got Boots’ prescription. Did Dr. Glickman charge me the right amount? What was it last time? Eighty-four. He’s getting a little grey around the temples. Oh, blast it. I forgot my naproxen. I can’t walk back in this wind. Never mind, I’ll get it tomorrow. I’m going to pay for it in the morning. Who else would treat Boots so well, remembering his meds over mine.

Water is freer than rocks. It lets anyone in without being hurt. A rock must be worn down to dust before anything can enter it, but the water welcomes a rock into its fold like it’s nothing. Water evaporates into patient clouds: it has no borders. Rocks are mined for and coveted and blood is spilt over them. They hide in pockets yet you can’t even eat them. Water is that thing humans never think of or always think of, depending on whether it is plentiful. People who have lots of water want rocks and people with rocks need water. In the heat of your hand a chunk of ice will change, but a rock thrown will never be recovered.