There are worlds within worlds, that keep rotating.
The story, Brenda Carlie
This year I will be 29 years old. Connected to the world I love, exploring both the internal and external reality of it. Grounding me to it is the tree of life. You can sit next to its wooden wisdom while you look at the stars. The endless time of the universe can seep into you while the cool breeze rustles the leaves, transferring the wisdom to your lungs. The stability of the tree feels safe, no matter how high it gets.The tree itself is happy. It loves to share, and to see the life around them grow, like their stem. The laughter of families having a picnic, the smiles of lovers entangling themselves like roots, or silent figures contemplating life. The tree knows its shade will soothe their sunburned faces, and their hight the chance for children to feel like the king of the world. Caring for them, means caring for itself, as it would die without them.I love the tree of life, and maybe that is why I always loved old people, too. They have taken in the tree of life. You can see it in their wrinkled eyes or their warm hands. I have even started to take it in myself, around my own eyes. Not strange is influence can be seen there first. Our eyes are the mirrors to the world, so it must begin where we show our experiences or see others souls. Gleaming in the sunlight, we can find others kindness, sorrow and hopes.We even keep our eyes and souls clean by washing them with tears. During the night, they synchronize we’ve learnt, to the sound of those rustling leaves in the breeze. The steady, pulsing beat of us growing along with nature. We should take time for this, but we can not stare at the stars forever.Our wrinkles are our personal guarantees and receipts for our memories, should we forget them. They are the marks showing others where we been. It tells us if someone has laughed with their hearts our struggled. We need them like we need a compasses; Leading us were we should go.The tree of life promise safety, and when we get scared to pack our picnic baskets and go home, we must see into our faces and the memories hidden behind them. We can drink the knowledge of roads taken before. And if we still feel lonely, remember that others are sitting under similar trees, waiting for you to find them so they can look at their own faces, too.
If the universe is really shrinking, we be together in time. Maya, sugababes
To my loving grandfather