an accident may be an instrument
That you don’t hear a tree scream, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. It happens in the way trees scream, for which our ears evolved inured.
That you see accidents as events, within your causal chain of grasp, does not exclude the truth of our harvesting, by those as beyond us as we are the trees.
Nature cast a coalescing rock around the sun, and from its dust walked plants and animals — and spirits among us, in the near beyond. Each with their own myths of cause and origin.
From derailment or disease, blunt instrument or passing with regret into that good night, our screams are also unheard in the harvest. Or worse: heard, unheeded.
That’s how it happened on the highway when the newly licensed glanced at an incoming call. The phone strapped to the handlebars flew into a fast-braking truck. As did she.
One wonders what the spirits harvest from us, how they exist among us, or why we cannot see their hand in culling lives less than a century. The biker rode at 33.
Do those in the near beyond give back? Do we? Planting seedlings, ensuring free range lives. Healthy, however long. Is that not in our interest? Or it may be, we are instruments of their harvest.
