I sit, in the sunlight, next to trees, seeking stillness. But the breeze rustles loudly among the leaves. There is no stillness here.
I look up into the branches. This tree shimmers with movement. The movement, almost a blur. Every leaf moves independently, as if driven by its own will, as if disconnected from the others.
I know that disconnection is illusion.
Each leaf moves independently, and yet, it is always part of the branch, the tree, the greater whole.
And so, each aspect of me, even in a frenzy of activity, is always connected to the whole.