I sit by the window. There are birds in almost every branch of the trees, they are eating insects. They are so lightweight that the tips of the branches barely move when they sit on them. This is truly a worm feast.
A small bird is hopping on the lawn and picking up earthworms. It is admirable to see how smart it is catching the worms. The bird is very picky. It picks up the worms, one after another, without eating them. Maybe it is looking for the perfect size to feed its young ones. When the bird finds a worm it likes it flies away with it, in its mouth.
The trees stand in the garden as they have done for the past forty years.
I can feel, even see, the stillness behind the restlessness of the world. And I wonder this endless need for importance. This struggle is an obstacle to the peace we all seek for. Yet we do not let go of the ideas, the illusions; no matter what.
This is the topic in chapter 33 in the book “What am I?”