The Ocean (II)

Outside my window this afternoon I heard a group of children engaged in one of the many disparate activities that almost makes one a child (or that merely become unifed when we become adults).  I rushed to the glass, pushing my nose up against it, as I am want to do, and trying to watch these small, yet-to-be-persons.  And, although I heard their laughter, and squeels, I was unable to see their interactions and fell silent wondering how much they (children) ought to matter to any of us.  Or, better put, I wondered if it mattered that I did not care so much to want anything specific for them, but more in the way I would care about a kitten, or puppy for that matter. 

These, I think, are distractions in the ocean.  But, this is not to say that they are mere distractions, or that I should be paying my attention to other, more important, concerns.  (If this was a set of notes that had some other purpose, say, to tell you all of the things of my life, then I might list these concerns as others list their accomplishments.  This is not a live journal meant as an update to those persons I know and want to keep up to date.  But you already know all of this.)  I have an end in mind to describe some of the things that make up the ocean, and that are worthy of becoming distractions.  And here are some more of these: 

I spent some time in a cloistered section of wood on Vancouver's Northern Shore a few weeks ago with a girl I hardly knew and her dog (whom I didn't know at all).  I felt the heart of luxury as we trampled through the undergrowth of a forestet by the sea, only occasionally restricting ourselves only to the premade paths that made the off-piste forays easy.  An abandon, yes, but, although it might have been pushed to primal, it wasn't.  There was no food that needed gathering, nor shelter to provide.  And no forest to take care of.  (When we found a patch of lychen, we walked on it for the aesthetic value of crushing this carpet beneath our feet, unmoved by the destruction of which we were aware we were a part).  But there was some care here too.  Only this was casual care that things be as they will be, which is to say, care for things to be as they are and not as we could have wanted.  In this mode, there was attention, but no complaints (I think), and no expectations of anything to happen or be prevented.

My morning began early on one day (and ended soon after that).  The room I was staying in faced Eastish, and I woke to the morning sun highlighting the tops of the mountains, the same mountains whose feet I walked on days earlier.  And this painting of light that lightly splashed the mountains and sky was a temporary enjoyment, but supplemented by the company I felt at that moment.  And, as I drifted back to sleep, I thought that one more distraction had been checked, and that I should sleep better having seen an extreme that others talk about when they talk about the things they notice; and also, that sometimes perfection comes without much effort at all; and that this is when we know that we're looking at the right (not good) distraction.

At times they will cut the grass and it will be moist enough that the green clippings remain, but not so dry that they brown.
And sometimes then I'll think of that hint of cereal smell that was so much a part of my recent set of distractions.
And I'll start thinking of all of those recent little highlights that made up that basket of things that are now my musings.
And I guess that in part of those musings there's you.

And part of these glowing distractions must be held in my remembering my musings that are memories of memories of distractions that ought to matter.  But not matter in the sense that things matter to humans, only in the sense that they matter to persons (and souls for that matter).  These little distractions, the little things floating in the midst of an ocean with responsibilities and feelings and friends and lovers past, and future, allow us to find some permenance.  We find that these things are reflections of a sweetness that we long for and that we all wish (atheist or non) is an enduring part of existence.  In truth, we are often distracted by other base things in the ocean, and in oursleves.  But, if we look to sweetness in all of these things then our lives will, as I have said elsewhere, be a series of highlights.  This is why our responsibilities should remain permenant throughout the various seas of our oceans: they ought to be aimed at preserving and discovering the highlights irrespective of the tides.