W O O D


The balance in the account was $425.56 and without a concern in the world, I placed a legally binding bid on a piece of wood for $400.


The giant tortoise exhibit at the zoo garnered more fascination than bears, belugas or butterflies. The children couldn’t wrap their minds around how a creature they’d only known as small could grow to be so big yet still be so notoriously slow. They were focused on size and speed as I was focused on its average life span. One century.

Naturally the question of why has already been answered by several theories, none left without additional unanswered questions. The theory of their metabolism and heartbeat is the most magical to me so it wins. To arrive at six heartbeats per minute would get anyone locked in a freezer and prepped for autopsy.

Until I learn how to slow my heart at will to place my corpus in deep meditative state I dream of the ways a heart might beat in resonance with nature and not against it.

Sometimes when life is not observable it’s easy to imagine it’s not moving so when we see movement it’s easy to imagine life is observable.


The auction was for what I believed to be a worthy cause. I’d inserted myself in the process with the idea that bidding high on a thing of little value would cause others to outbid me but I was wrong so went home with $25.56 and a piece of wood I kept in my living room for ten years to remember the cost of perceived righteousness. After ten years it was the only thing I owned that remained unchanged and perfect in state through all the ups and downs. It occurred to me that investing in nature was an investment in peace, immune to worthiness judgements and impossible to outbid.


Sometimes we aim the use of our earnings; the mental, physical and material, toward the intention of righteousness and learn only later their dual purpose – to shed light on our own shortcomings.

In recognizing that my wind and my wood have for too long pierced the hollow and lonely stillness of night, I also recall the tortoise and find comfort in moving at my own pace, knowing that all of life is a progression toward harmony.

When embouchure has been perfected our song will be heard throughout time and century after century our resonating brilliance will remain a lesson to the living as they ponder endlessly on the mysteries of our movement and how such love could be spoken through the warmth of unified lips that appeared not to have moved at all.

Would Becomes When and Wind Becomes Wood