Every creature loves its life as much as we do

467405_10150743640074703_301792493_oCommunion with nature . . . that’s when you’re walking in the boonies and you feel the veil of worldly worries lift, and you slip underneath and step into the twilight realm where all of creation is smiling back at you. That’s when your eyes open to the landscape infused with the gold light of the setting sun and the bright moon directly overhead. That’s when you can face the futility and still feel the wonder of it all . . .

We walk, savoring this evening off. In the quiet distance you can hear the faint laughter and happy screaming of children playing. New beings at the beginning of life. For a moment it’s as if you’ve already stepped off the Earth plane, and you’re hearing those sounds from far, far away.

After a while I stand still. I stand in the center, communing with the strong, steady, darkening mountains, watching lights in distant houses go on. I feel the layers of night silence descend. The last sounds of the day fade away, and now comes the cricket chorus of night.

As I lean into the boulder near my house and scribble what I feel, I think of the dogs at the pound, cheated of their last day on Earth, cheated even of a last loving embrace, betrayed by man. Man who has the genius to fly to the moon but who can’t stop the habitual killing machine.

As my heart bursts, what suddenly comes to mind is that wonderful Beatrice Wood quote: “When the bowl that was my heart was broken . . . out came laughter.” Beato, who in truth loved dogs more than pots, chocolate, and young men—and who taught that every creature loves its life as much as we do.

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