Roots

I had origins.
I had no background, though, no ground upon which I grew and into which I sent down roots.
The photos of my past were flat and mute. They still are like ancient gods forsworn, yet quaking with a redolent strength that I can only surmise.

I think a good deal of my interest in foreign languages and cultures was due to this feeling of shallow roots.
I think that this symptom of rootlessness presents throughout our society, and a good portion of our interest in Zen Buddhism and Yoga and Taoism and other practices stems from this search for root substance. Truly our interest in these things stems from other things, also, but part of the fascination is an inexplicable boredom of being within the face of the universe, where we feel ill at home.

How many of our younger relatives have left their faith?
God must come through the conduit of the past... otherwise, it is science, social media, cold steak, and weak tea.

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