Komorebi
“When scientists lie, what good is science?
When doctors lie, what good is medicine?
When politicians lie, what good is politics?
When I lie, what good am I?
Rare are the circumstances that justify untruths.”
“Oh, get off your soapbox,” someone said while I was
preaching to a pack of wolves in the middle of the forest.
“Who said that?” I called out.
“No one here wants to hear you whine and disturb the
harmony of our forest.” said the hidden voice. “Please
keep your mortal flaws and devilish eccentricities away
from us.”
“Where are you? Show your face!” I demanded.
“I am here in every tree, in every rock, and in every stream.
I am here in every flower, in every path, and in every weed.
Why do you not see me?”
“I do not know what I am looking for.”
Truer words were never spoken.
“Ah, but tis only a problem of your humankind,” the voice
replied. “We are what is, what comes and goes, breeding
not the immoral thoughts that you spread throughout the
world.”
“I still do not see you,” I said. “Why won’t you show your face?”
“Do you not see the dirt beneath your feet, or all that grows in
the glorious depths of our living woods? Are you not aware of
all that breathes here? Do you not give ear to our whispering?
How loud your mind must be and closed to what is real.”
The wolf pack howled.
“Forgive me for my foolishness,” I said. “The voices inside my
head too often speak in maddening tones.”
“And from whence or what do those voices come?”
“I guess from who I am,” I said. “Am I not the man who I think
I am?”
A strong breeze swooped through the trees, and the voice grew
louder.
“A man, yes, and even more, and yet plagued by a mortal
madness that haunts all of humanity. What is keeping you
from seeing the forest for the trees? What is denying your
mind’s awakening to greater possibilities than you’ve ere
considered before? What is interfering with your capacity
to feel humility in the presence of any moment? Is it not
the madness that masquerades as you?”
“It is. It is,” I replied, and suddenly I understood.
I howled at the wolves uncontrollably.
I saw streaks of sunlight between the trees
and walked carefully to a nearby stream,
stepped into its coolness with barest of feet,
and said not another word.
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© Randall Snyder
