One of my favorite parts of going to the beach is finding
driftwood. Logs, chunks, shards of fibrous grains, all molded by tides that ebb
and flow day in and day out. I love to look at the age lines that used to tell
the tale of the tree but now signify the history of life etched into the
inanimate. Often I wonder just how many laps of salt water were necessary to
form the graceful swells of each limb-- how far the log might have traveled
before breaking off onto its own voyage. So much feeble speculation based on so
little factual knowledge.
I am finding that people are very similar.
One of my favorite parts of going anywhere public is
watching people. Young, tall, children and adults all molded by their childhood
and the society that they were raised in. I love to look at a person’s posture
and mannerisms, and try to piece together what kinds of experiences were necessary
to synthesize the soul I see before me—how many other souls must it have
brushed against in its journey to this present moment. So much feeble
speculation based on so little factual knowledge. So much feeble speculation
based on so little factual knowledge.
It's crazy how much people speculate and judge each other when they know nothing. I do it all the time. What's even crazier is when people are consistently right. Yet what's frustrating is people who think they are. Sometimes I wish I knew everything, but I'm glad I don't. I'm glad in those moments when you get to pursue the purpose of someone's soul by simply speaking about life.
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