Trees loving themselves

How intermingled we are. How dependent we probably still are on our arch mother-father principle (the Origin of I). The first-born - the one maybe on the right, because it is a little the worse for wear, as per seen its branching - will one day fall away after its spirit has been consumed entirely by the new off-shoots, but this is a process of ancient time and not a measure of progress. It has nothing to do with the creation that is born out of love and everything with family, and yet thereby family is the stuff love is made of.

Is everybody numb to the miracle of I?

Maybe only the mothers and fathers who watch their two-year old in awe are a little stirred? At this age the I dares to take the air more firm-footedly and has a totter around and might say I and me to try itself out in its new suit. Thereafter, it may visit with increased frequency, throughout the next seven, fourteen and 21 years in total, before it must take up permanent residency at the “Coming of Age”. I note how few I-s end up in a pad they like, and admire their courage to stick it out and make the most of it anyway.

Those without family suffer. Those with corrupting families are disturbed in their development of soul. Few of us souls ever grow up into adulthood. Let alone manhood or womanhood. What then will Man be made of?

I may not be my brother's keeper, but the I probably won't arrive anywhere soon without some of us mothering a few of you. So, go now and eat your peas and wash behind your ears: mind your moral hygiene and I may tell you another bed-time story soon.