Wild Grass at Town Park | Mark Lindsay
Like a cluttered attic, sometimes my head gets stuffed. I've tried every time-management method there is. I've written lists, kept journals, made Gantt charts, flowed flow charts, and checked checklists. My brain still hurts. Sometimes it feels like pinballs are rattling around up there, bouncing off the padding of the inside wall of my skull. "Do this, do that. The world will end if you don’t…” Thoughts. I've become a human doing instead of a human being. That's why I like to watch grass grow.
Thoughts are like a dream. We get lost in the labyrinth and then try to find out way out of it. Meanwhile, nature just keeps being and without any effort at all, the grass grows tall and waves in the breeze. Grass and weeds really don't care what we think. In fact, weeds are downright defiant. They grow in forgotten places; in the wastelands of our developed world. We clear the fields and pull the weeds. We mow the grass. We build up a sweat clearing and cleaning. It's useless. All our effort and the grass still grows. The weeds still sprout out of the cracks of our sidewalks. Eventually they win.
Rather than fret over the grass and weeds, I'd prefer to marvel at the power of being. There the grass is, just being itself. And weeds are only weeds when we don't want them. Otherwise, in the woods and fields, they are native plants. They're just being what they are. It's all how you look at things.
Photography helps me marvel at the wonder of what is. I can get lost in a field of grass, just looking at how the light plays with the intricate surfaces. There is nothing more hypnotic than watching tall grass sway with the breeze. It is summer at its best. Why would anyone want to mow anything?
At this moment, as I start my day and look at my list things to do, I just stare. When did it all get to be so complicated? Then I breathe and remember the simple truth. Being created a universe. Doing gave me a headache.