Lost in a world, fresh and vivid, the weary and seeking mind of a man beneath the blossom of branches and colored leaves begins a journey. The novel, whose pages flutter like the leaves above on the autumn breeze, could be a calculus text, or a romance novel, or a simple story with plot and climax. Vast bookshelves whirl past the imagination with the endless possibilities and collections and genres.
Yet, tossed among the rising seas of published knowledge, this book rests on the surface with few others worthy of our adoration. The young man passing his autumn afternoon in the cradling comfort of nature’s vitality could memorize a text book or skim the cliff notes of every honored classic. Educating himself thus he might be called learned; seen as respectable. He may claim this knowledge as his, but he does not absorb it; cannot so easily integrate the lessons into his flesh and soul.
There are those we encounter passing on the road who radiate wisdom. there are these who care in face more about the process of exploring and learning for the sake of itself than the information obtained. The wise need not speak, but embody themselves the wisdom they’ve gained.
Human life shuffles along in ebbs and flows while maneuver highs and lows as each soul searches for meaning and purpose. We cannot navigate struggle by simply grasping for achievement, in the same way success in knowledge doesn’t come from equations and aggregation of detached facts. A human soul embodying curiosity, a seeking consciousness and a loving heart, resting against the trunk of a solid oak doesn’t need the half-truths of ‘success’.