The tree viridulates in the invisible intelligence of the gentle breeze. And the sight of the green dance that results transforms me instantly; my mind ceases its cultural activities. Language drops away. The fingers of silence sift through my awareness until I can see in the gentle sway and patterns that arise and disappear amongst the leaves and branches something more intimate than music — a changing dance that without being specifically intentional is alive in a sense native not only to my body but also my intelligence.

And I begin to feel fundamentally different, as if I am perhaps dreaming lucidly, as the movements of the tree begin to seem something more than a language… its fluid precursors, a source of intelligence unimaginable, the answer to »every question at once, but only for those whose eyes can see what the ‘ordinary’ movements of the plants and creatures, the sky and water… are the essential sources of. Movement itself is intelligence. To bathe the mind’s eye and spirit in this movement is as fraught with genius as it is divine.