Here is what I have to say in the witness of my fellow grandchildren:
Do you hear the trickle? Like the wind you do not notice till you notice, once I heard it I heard it beneath and flowing through many things. It is the flowing stream of the ancients, the grandchildren, we ancestors forgotten, to be forgotten, and those not yet known—who will soon also be forgotten.
This stream now I experience as an underground river, a torrent, watering the lives of all who walk the ground.
You, grandchild, will be, are, and were those walking and with the same kick you are also part of the great river.
So all you taste and touch takes on a new cast in this light: all is everlasting and what you—you little spray—do and say and learn makes a difference in the life of those living in this stream.
We do communicate with those in the stream with us—ahead, behind, beside, above, below. We are in conversation with all of us, often without words, silent as the trickle, ongoing.
This is the task impossible I have set myself—to unearth this conversation, community, and communion of the grandchildren, to consciously jump into the stream, and splash around. To make fun. Together.
Now I’d like to hear what you hear:
:- Doug.
