On Friday I went for a hike with people from the Eugene Zendo along a trail near the headwaters of the McKenzie River, about two hours from Eugene. The forest there is old growth. There were still patches of snow, the temperature around forty, and patches of sun. The dominant trees were fir, cedar, and hemlock and along the river many alder and maples. We lunched about 75 feet above a lake formed where the river comes out of the ground after a volcanic eruption buried it. The river runs free above the lake, but we didn't go that far. We were totally alone in an environment free (save the trail) of human intervention. The richness of life was everywhere and that richness included old snags, trees uprooted, and new saplings. Maples and alders grew out of the rocks and the only sound was the river, roaring down on its way, oblivious to us. The trees live and die as do the birds, insects, and animals of the forest.
So what is life all about? On Friday it was indifferent to me and my likes and dislikes and to my notions of how things should be.
When I got home in the late afternoon Catherine showed me a mass of chicken feathers on our patio, some with blood on them. One chicken was missing. I was very upset. Later we checked all around our place and found the partially eaten carcass of the hen and we took it to the garden and buried it. Two months ago we had a hen die of illness. She too is buried there in the garden. Right now we have six chicks rapidly growing into laying hens. This is what life is about and there is a majesty to it and in that majesty is sadness for the passings and joy for what is coming. And it is all there happening now, moment by moment, beyond my comprehension.
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