The Sacred

 

I find the presence of the sacred hidden in the trees, the silent witnesses and participants in the progression and dance of life. I find it hidden in the growth of the plants, through the scorching heat and the pounding rain. Their resilience in the face of being ignored, unnoticed, even. Their bravery and beauty despite themselves. Their obedience and how they communicate. They reach quietly but surely for light when they need it. They dry out and wither and fall where they stand quietly; yet they give so much. Beauty, shade, life, food, sustenance, and they teach us so much without saying a word. They don't go prancing about; they make no sound, yet they are wise beyond our knowledge, by the power within. If only we could pay closer attention to our vegetation. That which is in the trees is also in us. Greater is he that is in thee, than he that is in the world. This reminds me of the Sufi saying;

Not what we see, but that by which we can see.

Not what we hear, but that by which we can hear.

Not what we feel, but that by which we can feel.

Not what we think, but that by which we can think.

He alone is Brahma, and not what people here adore.

Inspired by the book Ordinary Mysticism by Mirabi Starr