I watch this tree a lot whenever I pass this way from my apartment on my way to work or wherever. I often feel like I'm missing out on something in life I really love when I have to pass by it instead of stopping and spending time. Since I was born, my mom would take my brother and I to the botanical garden in Brooklyn just about every week. I know that garden like it was my own backyard. But in those days it was still a quiet and precious atmosphere. You could sit in the grass for hours without being bothered by the noise of crowds and tourists or cameras clicking. It's hard to believe it was ever this way when I visit it now. Hanging out in the garden as a kid and growing up there has cultivated a need in me to meditate on nature whenever I have the opportunity. When I was a child, it was so often a part of my normal routine that I was barely aware of it. Who knew what meditation was. I was just that kind of child. I would space out infrequently sitting in some tree staring at gentle ripples in a lake. My mom never discouraged it. She was too busy doing the same thing.
Now that I'm an adult and so much emphasis is placed on being focused and concentrated and disciplined and organized, I miss that feeling of floating freely, of letting nature wash over me, and even, in the brief moments when I do get to do this, it feels false because I know it's only temporary. It feels as if I have to steal the time these days when as a child, it was simply there every day. I guess the logic in our society is that the only time we get that time again is through retirement, riches or death.
I think that my life, in some way has always been dedicated to reclaiming that time through my art. Even in my darkest hours I have never truly let go of it. I don't ever intend to.
