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In the morning when the sun rise slowly over the horizon. I sit down on the ground and quiet watching the bodhi-tree by the river. In the silent background, the darkness is moving through at the dawn, the leaves just flutter, great delight. Under sunlight. On reality. The branch and leaves of bodhi-tree just seems to quit a block of deeply sombre, of lonely life, of far away. Then the bright sun dance on the leaves, the fog cleared under the hot sun. And there is a peculiar quality of the fog imbibe into the ego, into the roots, into beingness. The leaves again flutter, dance, rejoice with the bright of life in the sunrise.
As the sun rises a little highter, the hot summer gradually drops become flames in sky, it seem always burned all the universe. At the moment, the shadow of bodhi-tree are blooming as a flower in a open out. Under shadow, the tree is deep abiding security, the tree is life enegry, the tree is beingness, the tree has human dignity.
By the midday, I sit under shadow of tree. I reached out and touch its bark. I realize the bodhi-tree has a life of being sensitive. I realize the bodhi-tree has a ego. I realize the bodhi-tree has talking sounds. But this sound is not the of bird chattering, not the breeze of wind that flutters the leaves, not waves breaking on the river. There is a life force within the tree and it’s said that, I am here, I am a tree, I am bodhi-tree, I have a life with you.
And that realize! The feeling of relationship with naturally. The feeling of discovery of beingness. The feeling of Creator. They bring my mind to a deadline of sun, to a Absolute to the Nothingness.
Towards the evening when the western skies are lit up by the setting sun, the tree gradually becomes sombre, dark, closing in on itself. The sky has become red, yellow, green, but the tree remains quiet, hidden, and is resting for the night.
And as the blackness covers the night, the bodhi-tree sunk in dark, and wait another day for fresh life.
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