Water, Vines and Trees

 

We are 99% water, with a splash of proteins and calcium. I suppose some future scientist will eventually show how water is the only, necessary component for our own memory retention. And, if that is the case, then I suppose it will be shown that the resonance Rupert Sheldrake speaks of can be found, through clinical trials, to be in water and in the air itself. Naturally, some members of the scientific community presently laugh at Sheldrake, but I would not be so quick to judge. I feel certain he is a brilliant, and not a mad man. In this essay of my own, I am suggesting that the science of memory retention in water will become more accepted and eventually, we will see that memory is also retained in air molecules. It may even go beyond this.

With current studies, showing the possibility that water retains memory, Alan Watts’s comparison of the human story to a wave in the ocean is much more palpable. I am human, and so are you, and to anyone who gives that idea much thought, it is filled with mystery.

When a person dies, there has been a long standing practice of carefully placing their remains in a box as if the bones might be needed later. The remains are typically lowered into the ground, in a relatively expensive burial plot of land. Then there will usually be a marker placed near the head of the deep hole. But year after year – although it is often referred to as a garden – nothing springs forth from a buried person. However, the practice of this kind of burial seems to do the job of keeping some memory of the deceased among the living. If you go to any historical, memorial garden, you will find stones, carved with the names of people who once walked the earth as you do now. It can be very calming to consider their rest. The stones are often fading; even if they are less than 200 years old. I often wonder how long the dates, carved into marble, will be legible. How long will the names be legible? In a million years, will there be a stone there at all? Will there be any record left? Will humans then be regarded as a former species? Will some new form eventually research our old graves and try to determine what we ate and how we lived?

Can’t you imagine, millions of years from now, some emerging, intelligent animal, considering a tooth; perhaps one of your teeth? And from that one tooth, the future intelligence will find traces of salt or sugar. They may even decide, by looking at a molar, that you were a plant eater and that you used salt and sugar for digestion. And they’ll try to recreate your appearance based on that limited guess. If a tooth is all they have, they’ll likely get everything about you wrong.

I am mentioning this tremendous likelihood as a way of suggesting a tremendous loss of memory on our planet; as it undergoes tremendous changes.

Memory

From the perspective of The Observer, we are something like the size of one molecule. And that does not sadden me; it excites me. If, in this vast Universe, I can be thought of as one molecule, then I have even more of an impact that I ever dreamed of. Size wise, I suppose it is impossible to distinguish my physical form from other forms in the universe. In fact, if you could pull back to see the entire universe at once, you could not even find our galaxy with the naked eye. The earth would be as invisible as a neutrino and, a scientist, big enough to study our universe, would probably only speculate about the presence of earth-like planets; too small to ever see with any kind of instrument that scientist would have. I suppose a scientist that large could never have even imagined that those theoretical planets, the size of our earth, could ever harbor life upon them.

It helps me to remind myself how miniscule we are. It helps me to remember how vast The Universe is. It helps me to imagine a scale where I am insignificant. And this finally helps me to believe that there is absolutely something much bigger than myself. In fact, that Something is so much bigger, I feel certain it contains me. I feel that everything about me – including my thoughts about myself – are not just local bits of information, but borrowed knowledge from that which obviously surrounds me. Like a vine, I grow from a vine, which grows from a vine and so on. How does this comfort me? It reminds me that I am a temporary expression of a permanent Self.

I can already see this vine fading. I’m getting old. But whenever I finally wither and die, a new, bright green leaf appears where I was and here I go again.

Will I remember this expression? On the higher level, I will. That Self does not forget. There is a living Vine, and as I turn brown, and dry, everything about me returns to That Vine and my physical expression falls to the earth below. My entire life, and all the good I do, will be drawn from me and reused by The Vine from which I grew.

The colors of the fall are there to remind us of what happens to us in the fall of our lives. We become the color of autumn and the gods come to see our foliage, painted across mountains of this time. All of the trees are requiring the good that we’ve been procuring and from that goodness, the trees survive and thrive in the winters. In the spring, all of the good that we gave back, will be available as good again and new, green leaves will fill the mountains of another time.