mother's day letter from Eric

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

- Walt Whitman

I like this poem because it reminds me a little bit of Dogen's famous idea that when you point your finger at the moon, all you can see is the finger that points and not what it is pointing to. Sometimes we get caught up in assigning meaning to this or that, to understand things based on some kind of predetermined criteria, but in the end it is always best to let things be, because the silence of the stars is always more beautiful than noise we make to explain them.
I have always been the type of person to try and point, to try and measure, I am, after all, a thinker. For me I get caught in a trap where I can no longer tell if I am seeing my finger pointing at the moon, of if I'm seeing the moon. Or, I obsess about the human incapacity to truly bridge that difference in cognition. But these days, I have taken to heart the Buddhists, and when I think of the way that you live each day, I start to realize that it may well be time for me to grow up.

I love you mom, thank you for everything.