The wind blows upon us and delights us, the rain falls and refreshes us,
the sun dries and sweetens us. We are become calm, slow, strong; so we
measure rectitudes and regard essentials, my oak and I.
I would be a hard person to dislodge or uproot from this spot of earth.
I belong here; I grow here. I like to think of the old fable of the
wrestler of Irassa. For I am veritably that Anteus who was the wrestler
of Irassa and drew his strength from the ground. So long as I tread the
long furrows of my planting, with my feet upon the earth, I am
invincible and unconquerable. Hercules himself, though he comes upon me
in the guise of Riches, or Fame, or Power, cannot overthrow me--save as
he takes me away from this soil. For at each step my strength is
renewed. I forget weariness, old age has no dread for me.
Some there may be who think I talk dreams; they do not know reality. My
friend, did it ever occur to you that you are unhappy because you have
lost connection with life? Because your feet are not somewhere firm
planted upon the soil of reality? Contentment, and indeed usefulness,
comes as the infallible result of great acceptances, great
humilities--of not trying to make ourselves this or that (to conform to
some dramatized version of ourselves), but of surrendering ourselves to
the fullness of life--of letting life flow through us.
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