If a single blade of grass exists only as a part of the pattern called grass, and the pattern called grass exists only as a part of the pattern called the world, and the pattern called the world exists only as a part of the pattern called the universe, then everything that exists exists only as pattern, and it is impossible to speak of grass, or pumpkin pies, or “Blurtso”, without speaking of the universe.
An individual blade of grass is inconceivable. It only exists as the pattern of relationships—seed, soil, roots, water, sun—called grass. An individual donkey is also inconceivable.
Honk!… Honk!… Honk!…
Get off the f!@#%!g road you stupid donkey!
Hmmm, thought Blurtso, that person is sure in a hurry.
He must be out of pumpkin pie.
I have spent my life eating things that are alive or were once alive. I sure hope whatever I become food for… enjoys eating me as much as I have enjoyed eating.
Why do humans, said Blurtso, interfere with nature? Humans, said Pablo, are creatures of nature, and as creatures of nature they inevitably act naturally, so their conscious interference in nature must be working in the interests of nature, even if that interference turns out to be nature’s way of eliminating humans.
The birds are nice, said Blurtso, they sound very happy. Yes, said Bonny, Pablo can identify all of them by their songs. Really, said Blurtso, what was that one? That was a chickadee, said Pablo. And that one? said Blurtso. That was another chickadee. How about that one? said Blurtso. That was the same chickadee you heard the first time, said Pablo. Wow, said Blurtso, that’s amazing.
Hmm, thought Blurtso, a dead bird. You don’t see many dead birds. I wonder why not? With so many birds in the trees you’d expect the ground to be covered with them, like leaves in autumn.
Why do humans, said Blurtso, think they’re more important than other animals? I don’t know, said Harlan, maybe they’re hiding an inferiority complex.
Somewhere beyond the city, maybe up north, in Maine, the warmth is thickening on the breeze, the mud is hardening underhoof, and voices are swelling on the branches. And a donkey with no place to go is losing himself, in the fragrance of needles and pine.
Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. Do you think anyone else stays awake like we do, talking in the dark? Yes, said Harlan, I’m sure they do. What do you think they say? said Blurtso. They tell tales, said Harlan, of what they did during the day, or say silly things like children who can’t sleep, or say sad things about the sorrows they hope to change, and then they sing lullabies to each other, until they forget their sorrows, and sleep like children who can sleep.