Water for the Plants

The thought process inherent in the people’s life, in their actions, in their struggles, in the limited view I took home with me. So similar to mine, but I could never practice it, live it. I’m outfitted with precepts, learned from my parents, passed on from theirs. They would have marveled at their similarity to people of other lands. They could have talked the same language with these people. They, more than me, could have related to the deceptively simple ideals of a predominantly rural land. The precepts of a distant generation, of my ancestors. Could they be so different than mine?
Sometimes it seems of little use to ask this question, because life beckons with it’s infinitesimally small challenges that if ignored, will cut down the strongest person. The values, however, that I use to guide me through these challenges have a root, a providence that I believe every human being draws from. The mere act of breathing and the instinctual drive to think hold us all as brethren, but the more complicated and illusory accomplishment of making sense of this world present other hallmarks of our close relations.
The scope in which to process these experiences seems like half the answer. How do we concentrate on what’s important, on what was meant for us to survive? Be it religion, our relative’s ideals or anything else. My thinking and instinct tells me that our perspective is always changing, and that a static frame limits our view. So I have the urge to shed all notions previously prescribed for me, to leave behind all their comforts. But this is not the answer, I can see that now. It is fitting what we’ve been given with what we experience. The frame to the picture. Water for the plant.