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A short sit on a bench becomes something else entirely.

A short sit on a bench becomes something else entirely.
The spirits of the Washoe Tribe rise up to us and tickle our skin.

The spirits of the Washoe Tribe rise up to us and tickle our skin.

If it exists in your vision, does it exist? Only if you believe.

There’s a spot from the Angora Highlands where if you perch yourself up on a hill, you can see over the valley and to the mountain ranges across. Early in the morning, there are patches of light fog or mist that rest peacefully in the nooks of the smaller valleys, waiting for the sun to melt them away. They have just a short time to hover over the trees before the day begins. This is where my visual imagery begins. I didn’t plan it from the outset, I just opened my mind and let it go. You might want to buckle your seatbelt–and close your eyes.

Body of Clouds, Roots to Nourish, Sun to Extract

My dad and I are the form of these clouds. We’re vague blobs of puffy white, but recognizable just like when you were kids and you look up into the sky and say, “I see a rabbit! I see a monkey!” We’re lying on our backs in such a state of peace as you might imagine if you were indeed a collection of clouds floating over a tree-filled valley in the early morning. The air is calm and cool, but not cold or uncomfortable. As Goldilocks would say, it’s just right.

I take my viewpoint out of my own eyes there above the valley and rise up so I can see myself from a different perspective. I close my eyes, but I can still see from a short distance.

We lay there still, but not sleeping. We’re conscious but just barely. It’s a glorious state to be a cloud. I’ve never been one before. I still don’t understand how rain is made … but focus.

Roots from the trees below rise up slowly and enter our bodies from below. So many roots of all shapes, sizes and configurations. Strong roots, thin roots, big tree roots from the forest below, but also smaller roots from the shrubs and plants. When you pull a plant out of its pot it looks something like what we had going into our bodies.

The roots begin to feed our bodies nutrients, minerals and whatever else they have to offer. It flows through our bodies like electrons, looking for places that need it, searching for areas to heal. When they find a spot, they soak the area in liquid soil and feed what needs to be fed. What doesn’t need to be there is weeded out (pun intended … ) and rises towards the tops of our bodies.

The sun is rising and the warmth on top of us pulls out what we don’t need. It evaporates and slowly and smoothly, like when it rains on hot asphalt, the steam rises and soon disappears. As the sun quickly moves over the nearest ridge, the warmth increases and more and more is pulled out.

Tentacles from my cloud slither over to my dad’s cloud and it brings him energy and good I may have in excess that he may be in need of. Some of his roots seek out my cloud and come over and it’s a regular stock exchange of energy, bustling with comings and goings. Except we’re clouds, above a valley, with roots reaching down to the earth and sun pulling out what we don’t need and don’t want.

I send him what I have, he receives what he needs. He sends me what he thinks I might need and I soak it up like a thirsty redwood. I send him more, maybe more than he needs, but I’d rather he have an excess. If there’s too much, the sun will lift it out of us. Maybe the roots will being some back to me, looking for a home for what’s good, what’s needed.

Keep it going, like spinning plates on sticks

As I see the scene from my perch on the hill, I try to keep it going in my mind as long as I can. It’s hard, probably something like those magicians do when levitating the beautiful woman above the table (that’s an insider magician joke). The roots are sending up what’s good, the sun is removing what’s bad. I can keep the scene going if I can keep the distractions out of my vision. I keep it going for several minutes and the exchange is going well. We’re in a serene state floating over the Washoe tribe’s old grounds. I hope that some of their spirit is coming up from the soil and into us, it must be good stuff, so old and majestic. Let’s soak it all up, whatever we can. Keep it coming, keep it flowing. Keep the sun shining and the warmth evaporating the waste.

A cloud comes in between us and the sun, but slowly. The air is quickly cooler and the steam leaving our bodies slows. The roots slowly descend as if they know their job is done. At least for today. Our cloud bodies remain, but they too will soon vanish. I head back over to ourselves and somehow, I’m not sure how this happens, I get back into my body. I’m not asking questions.

Still on our backs, our gaze towards the sky, we rest. I know we’ll be done for the day soon, any second now. I know I’m helping my dad. He knows it too. He can feel it. I can feel it. I’ll be back tomorrow. So will he. I know it.

What did you do this morning?

I was sitting on a bench at the bustling Ferry Building for 15 minutes and in that time I turned my dad and me into clouds, arranged for roots to fill us, got the sun to help remove the excess, even got some tribal elders from the Washoe tribe to give us their best. Oh, then I healed my dad, he healed me and we healed each other. Maybe a lot, maybe only a little bit, but it was something.

I opened my eyes and the world was still bustling, but I was not the same person. A little something changed. I gave a little and received a little. Somehow, even though mathematically hard to fathom, we both came out ahead, it’s not a zero-sum equation. We can create something from nothing. We are factories that can produce unlimited love.

P.S. I’m filing this under Delegating. 😉

About The Author

Bradley

I don't like to call them excuses. They're priorities. With a handful of exceptions, we usually have a choice in our actions. They just need to be prioritized.

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