A short walk from the retreat centre in Rio there is a path that leads you into a little Amazon. Follow it through to the end – don’t fear, you are never far from the familiar world and the path is man-made – and you find yourself immersed and welcomed as part of the endless buzz and activity of life. The ecology of the forest is a dance of such complexity and intricacy that cannot be conceptualised. To analyse it is to lose it. To grasp it as a whole needs a change of focus.
Its complex inter-systems – insects, birds, fauna, flowers, trees, parasites and all the other kinds of life that shyly avoid bipeds like you – revolve in their own worlds of survival and self-reproduction, like countless whirling galaxies. Sometimes they collide silently and the stronger prevails. But no one complains. Destruction is part of the life system. Continually, leaves flutter down, having served their purpose. They settle on the ground to decompose and disappear forgotten and become something else. All the time there is a constant vibration of noise, the origin of music, but also forms of energy beyond our few weak human senses.
Looking down I see a perfect impatiens walleriana, the little five petalled flower of pastel colours I have on my balcony in London and that we call Dizzy Lizzie. It is a bridge between worlds but you are still the only human being in this particular parallel universe.
Walk out of the forest past the retreat house, you find well-manicured gardens, part of the tamer human ecology. Forest becomes garden. Low paid workers, now in their homes in the favella, keep it neat and tidy for those who have leisure to enjoy, but perhaps have also lost the calmness necessary for leisure. The flowers have the look of flowers that are looked at, the origin of cosmetics.
What if, from within and beyond these great artless symphonies of wild nature and the self-conscious aesthetics of human culture another vibration were to emerge? It comes silently, concealing itself in the very forms in which it is clothed. It is the source of both worlds including all worlds yet to be. In those perhaps the self-regarding human will be unknown. It is the primal utterance that brings existence out of being and leads it back to being. As leaves flutter down so universes expire. But this originating Word is the base line of all time and space.
We wait for it. It is coming. It is here. It is moving on, completing its big purpose, with or without us. But it has come to its own, as gloriously, movingly human as a newborn. Utterly weak so that it can reveal itself as the power of life to those who recognise it and are not too busy to listen to it during their short span of days. It was why a good Advent makes for a Happy Christmas – all year.
A very happy Christmas and peaceful new year to us all.