The Healer Called Nature

Nature is like an ancient musician, playing its harp to amuse the world. It is a pristine living river, its eternity is subtle. Sea and its union with a thousand streams is morphing into clouds, returning to the mountains.

In the utter attention to its song the busy mind rests, a new dimension of reality opens up. Past, future… all are gone. Only the vibrancy of being alive remains.

As a happy slave of modernity, our hands resist touching the river, they are too used to that shiny kitchen sink. Our bodies recoil from jumping into its cool depth, they are too used to the chlorine tainted pools.

Then when the heart is fragile and souls are broken, we let the sun shine onto our bare skin, we crumble the soil to plant some flowers. A world of healing holds the ones in tears.

Forests are waiting for you. The squirrels, those little shamans, sanctify all the strangers.

Old trees hold a timeless dignity, they are confident like wise heroes, their grip on the earth is unshakable, they invoke something magnificent in the center of our being. Some of them are fallen, and still, their dignity remains while nature slowly consumes them. And soon, in time, they will reincarnate into thousands more.