INTERCONNECTED
“A human being is a part of the whole. called by us “universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest of us—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures an the whole of nature in its beauty. Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but the striving for such achievement is, in itself, a part of the liberation and a foundation for inner security."
—Albert Einstein
Interconnected, a book nearly-completed, explores the cross-roads between Indian mythology, spirituality and modern science in a quest to dissolve the barriers we have erected around our concept of Self. We live in a world of connections. We need to learn to break through the walls of our perceptions of singularity into a more all-encompassing vision of unity.
The following is a representative chapter of Interconnected
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“Compassion is the glue that holds ecosystems, webs of nature, and circles of life together. We are an integral part of many beautiful, awe-inspiring, and far-reaching webs of nature, and we all suffer when those complex interrelationships are compromised.”
—Marc Bekoff
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One
The mosquito is small
it takes almost nothing to ruin it.
Each leaf, the same.
And the black ant, hurrying.
So many lives, so many fortunes!
Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances
down to the ponds and through the pinewoods.
Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour
before the slug creeps to the feast,
before the pine needles hustle down
under the bundles of harsh, beneficent rain.
How many, how many, how many
make up a world!
And then I think of that old idea: the singular
and the eternal.
One cup, in which everything is swirled
back to the color of the sea and the sky.
Imagine it!
A shining cup, surely!
In the moment in which there is no wind
over your shoulder
you stare down into it,
and there you are,
your own darling face, your own eyes,
And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by,
touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf,
and you know what else!
How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,
how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,
even your eyes, even your imagination.
—Mary Oliver
