But there was wonder in the air. The simple silence and the peace of the sun and creation in the whole. It was that ancient tree, which was just a tree. It was that ancient spring, which was just a spring, just water. It were the ancient rocks, which were but humble rocks. It was the warmth, and the beautiful colours of the sunlight, which were no different to ten thousand and more summer days. And yet, there was this magic. It was a magic that told that everything could have its place, that flowers grow, and water flows, that time passes, and while there is nothing one could propably do about it, one must not, in turn.
This magic is subtle. It cannot be felt in a rush. It cannot be made to bend to one´s will. It is the power of nature, of creation, a power that must not bear any name. And if you give in to it, it will heal your soul, and you will find out that this is the power that made your soul in the first place. It is much more than the humble rocks, the water or the tree. They are but part of it all. They have been given names, but do we understand even them? I daresay not.
We forgot how to see. For seeing with your heart rids you of many fears we are laden with. And there are, let´s call them "forces", in our society not interested in people without those fears. People, and peoples with fear are easier to control, and their power always is a power "over" something, a dominion over something. Even if humans set this spring in rock, they will never fathom it, at least not water in general. We as humans can cut down that tree, we can make something out of it, but even so, we will never fathom it, for we cannot understand it. Due to this lack of understanding, we brought the world into the mess it´s in. And we realize with terror that a sandstorm on the surface of Mars with temperatures of -274 degrees Celsius are nature, too, and that even there bacteria can live-while we can not. Not loving creation will only destroy our species-but not nature in itself. This renders us utterly powerless, and we know it, and this leaves us with a horror vacui we try to fill up with gadgets and gimmicks and overcivilization.
I do not want to say we managed to let it all be, but we took in the atmosphere. It is very difficult - and outright ridiculous - to call it anything more than that. We savoured the magic. We drank the water, but only until we were thirsty no more. We sat there, took in the sun and the shade and the song of the water and the peace above the warm rocks. We spared a thought for the spring and those who could not be with us-and it was with love we remembered.
But it must not, too. It is like the ball being thrown. We want to calculate its flight, but noone has asked us to do so. We simply have to catch it with the joy of a child.