A Green Haiku
I stare into space
Today. “Green on green,” she said.
Infinite palette.
At the very end of my life I imagine I will understand – perhaps for the first time, in my final moment – that each day was momentous. I will come to understand that every tick-on-the-tock held more import than I had capacity to conceive. To “just get through it” or to assign “good days” and “bad days” a mind-boggling misunderstanding of the opportunity-of-life.
How much of my perception is chemistry? Ventral vagus tugging-at-war with dorsal vagus for story dominance? Meaning made via neurotransmitter? Does my chemistry generally opt for connection or protection? Like most of us, I imagine myself as somehow independent of my environment, an individual, self-actualized. As it turns out, that is proof of delusion. Or human-specific-hubris. I cannot know myself without your reflection. You cannot know yourself without mine.
First we sense. And then we story. And then our stories wear paths in our mind meadow, chemical preferences.
Green on green. Not as simple as it seems. Boundless as this passing moment. Infinite.
[*special thanks to The Marginalian by Maria Popova – June 9, 2024 – for her reflections on polyvagal theory]
read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN
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The Direction of Intention 