the ancient book of magic secrets

11.16.19

Green leaves are turning yellow high up in the Hackberry growing back in the groovy nook.  Soon they will fall and become placemats on the ground.  I won’t move them.  “If God put them there, who am I to rearrange them?” was my comment on facebook.  It got a couple of likes.

How the trees interact with the sky and the ground is like a communications network.  Some trees synthesize chemicals that they release into the air, terpenes and dimethyl sulfides to be precise.  They rise into the sky and seep into the clouds so that raindrops can form.  The raindrops, after their wild ride with their dimethyl sulfide hearts, hit the ground and merge into the earth and make their way underground to the tree roots that collect them and use them in their own metabolism and their own transportation system. They transport nutrients like potassium and nitrogen up into the leaves 60 feet above so they can do their photosynthesis trick and send energy back down in the form of carbohydrates which the tree can then use to manufacture more terpenes and dimethyl sulfides and call more rain. Feedback loop.

My method for writing this essay is to sit in my backyard on the porch looking out over the pool and the trees and all the various inhabitants of my little backyard here in the city of San Antonio and observe.  There are a million times a million things going on – under the earth, inside the cells of the trees, insects hunkered down hidden in the leaf mulch or in some tiny crevice of a tree trunk – that we don’t see; two turtles buried in the mud dreaming and dreaming in their turtle way until Spring comes.  And I sit here and see what I see, knowing that there is more that is unseen. I sit here and notice things.  That’s the game – notice.  I notice that there is alot to notice.  Never seem to run out of things to notice.  The grey fence shading darker and darker as it enters the groovy nook, the grey on grey of the tree trunks against the fence and the green leaves, the shape of the branch that leans out from the Possum Holly, leans out and down as if to touch the pool and the silent fish moving in there.  They’re at the surface, expecting Meow Mix to rain down like manna from heaven, from the god who stands at the edge of the pool and casts open his arms from whence cometh Meow Mix Tender Centers.  Or maybe they don’t have gods.  They‘re just fish.  Probably gods are for humans.  I don’t even think monkeys have gods.  They don’t seem to unless it’s all of nature and they are in praise all the time, chittering and chattering and jumping around.  More devout than the humans who forget their gods most of the time, have to go back to church to remember.  Oh yeah, God.

Yeah so I just sit here and entertain whatever thoughts cross my mind as they’re passing through.  It may be that it is the backyard that is speaking thru me.  If it were to say something maybe it would be this “Holy Smokes human, don’t forget your god.”  That’s what I suspect they would want to say if they wanted to speak thru me.

I sit here until it grows dark sometimes.  Slowly, slowly, slowly it descends until you no longer can see the shapes as they once were but you see them as forms, the general outline, hints and probabilities, suggestions.  It is a different vocabulary coming from the same source.  I am convinced that all of nature is communicating.  Another thing we don’t know about.  It’s in communion using communication techniques that we may not understand.  Yet.  I also believe that we should try to learn these communication skills because that’s what our ancient ancestors knew and that’s what enabled them to survive in order for us to be here now.  Plus, on top of that, we are going to responsible for healing nature once we stop damaging it and realize that we have to live in a cooperative relationship with it, then we will need those skills of communicating outside of our species and outside of our vaunted verbal language, making sounds in our throat to represent ideas and things.  We’re going to have to learn the language of nature in order to survive.  That’s what I think.

The gentle blue ceiling, grey-blue or blue-grey above us all, like a god, is losing its light.  The birds, Inca doves, the Jays, have roosted and are invisible.  Even the squirrel is home watching cable TV that he hooked up for free out at the pole where all those wires are.  Well excuse me, the Jay calls out, as if to say – I’m not asleep yet.  The frog starts up as if to say, this cold water is nice, I think I’ll sing all night.

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