I am indebted to Marta and Stephen Weinstein who inspired this
conversation.
I'm walking. There is walking. The body moves automatically. The
legs know exactly where to plant the feet to tread. The arms know
exactly which way to splay the hands to balance. I'm just sitting here
on this observation deck watching the scenery change and go by.
It's so huge, so vast I can't see the furthest edge of
this land. Between me and its borders are not merely hills but
mountains and mountains. There's not merely streams but rather
miles and miles of river waterfront and beaches. There's
not merely trees but rather forests and forests. Above me
there's not merely stars but rather galaxies and galaxies
clear through the smog free and city light free sky.
Who am I in relation to this vastness? Who am I that
this vastness can be? What is the context I am that this
magnificence shows up in?
Land is land. Sky is sky. Why then is this particular land, this
particular sky any different?
Looking, I eventually realize what makes this land, this sky different.
It's a possibility I'll call stewardship. This isn't public
land. This isn't a national park. This is someone's home.
People sought out this place, fell in love with it and bought it, took
responsibility for it - for managing it, for caring for it. They're
committed that eventually, when they pass it on to future generations,
it will be in a better condition than they found it in.
In doing all that, in taking all that on, that's how they bring forth
for me the possibility I'm calling stewardship.
The big I see is secondarily the big of the
land. Secondarily it's the big of the sky. Primarily it's
the big of stewardship. Looking at this land, at this sky
not presencing the possibility of stewardship, I'm amazed.
Looking at this land, at this sky presencing the possibility of
stewardship, I'm rocked to the core. I'm touched deeply. I'm moved ...
so moved ... I'm literally moved to tears. I smile with
being here, on my big land, under my big sky, happily through drenched
cheeks.