2002-01-17 - 9:43 PM
Water
You know, there are still trees out there, that have never been touched by human hands before. These centuries old trees, deep within the most dense forests and jungles, that have never felt the touch of warmth, the special skin of a lively person.
...
The thought of those trees came into my head today - wondered if I'd ever be lucky enough to touch one of those trees. I mean, how incredible would it be to do so? That tree would end up being my own - I would own that tree, in some odd sense, but nonetheless, own it. To be the first to grace something so grande, something so seemingly timeless, might be one of the keys to feeling attached - to something, to the world, to anything. And perhaps, to touch something so untainted, might be one of the keys to truly knowing how it feels, to be connected to the most innocent purity.
I can't help but wonder if I'd feel any better, about myself and in general, if I ever got the chance to press the sides of my face against such a testament to nature. Maybe I'd feel as if my life held a bit more meaning. Maybe I would've found that "something real" that I, along with many others, seem to be searching for. I really wonder what type of power and beauty one must feel, in being the first to caress something - the first to hold it. I wonder how doctors feel, when they deliver newborns - being the first to touch their skin. Do they rob this power and beauty from the mother? The father?
I guess I'm just sort of thinking about these certain feelings you get, in doing totally original things, or the feelings you get through the rarest situations. For example, ever consider the feeling you'd get, the first time you'd step out of a house, that has kept you locked up since birth? To smell the unstale wind, for sunshine to rest upon your face without having to pass through glass, to touch a plant with its roots in the ground - what a great feeling to have. I've never really considered the emotions, or even the thoughts that a kid with a skin disease (one that'd restrict you to a suit - in order to go outside at night, not even in the day) might have, when science pulls through, and they're able to step into the sun for the first time - free.
I guess, these are the types of "something real"s I've been searching for, and for the life of me, I couldn't think of any original feeling like that - one that set me apart from everybody else. Perhaps, these truly beautiful "realities" that I search for, are borrowed esteem. I feel something that beautiful - then I'M that beautiful. Perhaps, my desire to softly brush a tree, that has never felt the shiver of a body trembling from a heartbeat, is my own way of feeling special. Perhaps, that's the feeling that I've never felt - my stepping into the sun.
I desire to be beautiful. And I'm not talking about the aesthetic beautiful. I want to feel worthwhile. I want to feel worthy of the world. I want to feel and be, beautiful. I see things as Adrie once stated: "Beautiful is like, the ultimate compliment, because I think that word includes your personality also." Well, I believe it does as well (include the personality, that is). As a matter of fact, beautiful entails all facets of being, in my opinion. Being beautiful, you exemplify an impeccable personality, with values and morals, and so much to offer. I suppose that lately, I haven't felt like I've had much of any of that. So I suppose - this is why I'm searching for that "something real", the untouched tree.
But it hit me (I think I go through an inner battle everyday, and a new realization of something so simple dawns upon me), sometimes we can search too hard. I think back to a story I once read.
It was about a man in Russia, working the mines. Every day, as clockwork, he would wheelbarrow coal past the coal-mining guard on the border to a designated drop zone. But the miner just had this suspicious air about him, so much that the guard began to suspect that he was stealing coal, perhaps diamonds, or any other type of thing of value. The guard was sure that the miner was a thief. So every day, the guard checked the man thoroughly, for signs of theft - but every day, the man was clean. The guard checked the wheelbarrow, the contents, even poked his gun all throughout the coal - plus, the amount of coal never diminished, and all was accounted for. But he MUST have been stealing SOMETHING. Years went by, and the man went on clean - despite the guard's sureness of the man being a culprit of theft. After many many years, both men having since retired, ended up in a bar one night, the miner just happened upon the guard. Feeling good to see a familiar face, especially in his old age, the guard offered the miner a drink, and their conversation ensued. The guard brought up his then silent accusations saying, "We are both retired now, so things don't really matter anymore. I know that you've been stealing something, every day while we were at work, but I really couldn't figure out exactly what. And I still can't." And with that, the miner smiled. The guard went on to ask, "So tell me, old friend. What was it, that you were stealing?" And with THAT, with an even bigger grin and a slight chuckle, the miner replied, "Wheelbarrows, old friend. Wheelbarrows."
Hehe. So I guess that we search too hard for things, when the things we're looking for are right under our noses. I've been searching for this rarity - this original feeling that nobody else would have.
But it's here - in my every day. I have the chance to wake up, and feel alive - nobody else can say that they've breathed the same breaths that I have, woken up to the same view of the sun as I have, on any given day. These feelings - these things that make me special - go on, with each second of my days. The feeling of my clothes against my skin - I own, and just me. My unique voice, look, views, thoughts, everything - this is what makes me beautiful. I don't need to cure cancer or be a pop star, to offer something to the world. I offer my uniqueness. There's only one me, one beautiful me - with feelings nobody else can feel. I'm the "something real".
Maybe there is no real meaning to life - being ourselves, just living, is all we really need to do; all we really need to know. I think that it's safe to say that, in my old age, when the rings under my eyes compare to the rings of a tree (more with the years), I could look back and say that I've found the "something real". I could look back and say that I've found those original feelings - felt attached, connected to the most innocent purity. In my old age, I pray to look back and see - a truly unique life, offering the world something different, since I am the only me. I'm beautiful. I'm the "something real".
I'm the untouched tree.
