a tree falls in the forest and no one cries.
no one takes notice.
one Tree fell in the wilderness.
they are few who noticed.
and they cry.

they cry because of Frailty.

the frailty of human life is a piteous thing.
our days are surely numbered,
but not by us.
the strongtower of our autonomy comes crashing down,
supplanted by a gentle current.

we marvel at all the things that are beyond our control.
who can predict the path of the butterfly?
who can stop the stars in their courses?

and so we write,
in acquiescense to our ultimate foe.
the body he may take,
but the mind lives ever on,
pulsating along some invisible organic chain,
from host to host.

even more insidious is the frailty of our human condition.
the intents of the heart are bent toward evil.
a Tree has fallen
and we cannot mourn adequately.
our tears fall dry upon parched earth.
our thoughts, like shadows,
alter with the change of day,
and with each imposing source of artificial light.

shrouded in darkness, we wait and listen.
but the murmurs and mumbles we hear,
that attract our attentions are simply diversions,
diversions away from the subtle sound of One,
which is like the roar of ocean waves that break upon the shore,
soothing and calming,
an underlying tone,
setting mood and creating atmosphere
for our various private motion pictures.

this sound is indispensable to our humanity.
unnoticed? no,
though often neglected.
and so we despise Frailty,
for it is the master of Pride,
who masquerades about as an angel of light.

may we learn to appreciate the darkness of our frailties.
is there any greater contrast to the pure light of the immutable One?

indeed, there is One who watches every tree that falls;
there is One whose tears could fill every river.
One gives the butterfly her course and the stars theirs.
One gives light and life.
the voice of One sustains and reproves.
at that we marvel.