A Feral and Diffuse Love

Close up of green moss, with drops of water hanging down. Brown, damp leaves on the ground. Image credit: Maureen McGowan

Last week, I encountered this story from the Zohar, the central text of Jewish mysticism:
For when Ribi Aba saw a tree whose fruit became a bird and flew from it, he cried and said: If people only knew what these things hinted at, they would tear their garments in mourning over the wisdom they have forgotten from them.

I can only dream my way into any understanding of this tree, and the fruit that becomes a bird and flies away. Could this really happen, if I just pay close (but soft) attention?

While I continue to ponder this tree-fruit-bird image, my heart is also captured by Ribi Aba’s cry - if only we knew what we’ve forgotten, we’d tear our clothes in lamentation. 

The Zohar was first published in the 13th century. Nearly 800 years ago, there was already a sense that we’ve forgotten the beauty, the magic, the mystery of the world around us. And already, a mourning for what’s been lost.

What do we lose when we forget to pay close attention? And what might we gain if we watched every tree as though their fruit could suddenly transform? Our attention is so often captured by images on screens. What if we gave the same attention to the rustling, waving leaves; the drooping, swaying branches; the calling bird winging past our window? 

I look just now out my own window, and see a battered fern gently moving. I see a squirrel climb straight up the tall blue spruce that watches over our home. I see the rustbrown ground made of leaves and needles and dirt. I see tiny green plants that managed to survive snow and ice. I wonder into who lives below, where I can’t see. 

There is so very much to lament in this world, so much to grieve. And yet, there is so much joy, and beauty, and care. My hope and guiding light is that of all there is to lament, we need not also mourn our forgetting of the magic and the mystery. What would it be, how would our lives be shaped, if instead we looked, really looked (and really listened, and really touched, and really smelled) into the world around us?

What if we searched longingly in every tree for fruit that might - just might - shapeshift and fly? 

What if we brought this attention and care to every being in the world - every human, every plant, every stone, every creature? It’s an impossible task (unless maybe you’re a Bodhisattva) - the human mind and heart can’t hold everyone. But sometimes the impossible can be a vision to reach toward. 

As we widen the circle of our attention, we widen our potential for compassion and love. Our lives and our world encourage us to close off, to collapse in, to create a small and manageable and known circle of care. What if instead we widened, became ungovernable - let our care and love become untamed? What could happen in a wild world of feral and diffuse love? I want to keep walking into that dream (and flying and crawling and swimming). I hope we can go together.