Three-dimensional life

I lie down on the grass in the wonderful park near the Mission San Jose church. Since the nineteenth century, this has been a monastery park, but about six years ago, it was sold to the Fremont municipality. Now it's a public park. Today it's hot – about 80 F, but centuries-old trees create shade, and nearby, a fountain murmurs. Water flows from the top in a small stream and cascades into increasingly larger basins. I lie down and gaze at the sky. The azure sky, without a single cloud, is adorned with the large canopy of trees – with the palm fronds and feathers, the soft needles of redwoods, and the lace-like leaves of mimosa. The tranquility isn't stagnant but alive. The breeze rustles the leaves, and the branches sway lazily. Sun rays shimmer as they penetrate the moving canopy. My eyes follow the swaying leaves and the gleaming sunbeams. No photograph can capture such dynamic beauty and tranquility.

The fountain attracts various birds to drink. I don't know all of them, but I recognize sparrows, blue jays, hummingbirds, and canaries. There's a cacophony of chirping all around. Blue jays and sparrows are more aggressive, the former arriving first at the water. While one sparrow drinks, several others wait in line atop the palm. And not just waiting but also guarding their turn. When a red-breasted bird tries to drink out of turn, a sparrow descends from the palm and chases it away. After a few lessons, the red-breasted bird waits and gets its turn. Monarch butterflies also wait until all the birds have had their fill. It's a true paradise with celestial order. I look at the sky and see birds flying around, hopping from one tree to another. Their movement seems chaotic to me, but they know what they're doing. Sometimes, larger birds – seagulls, crows, geese, pelicans, red-tailed hawks – fly higher in the sky. They all live a three-dimensional life, unaware that we, terrestrial beings, are confined to two dimensions.

Thinking about my two-dimensional life, I recall a childhood game. Walking to school with friends, we would try to step only on the sidewalk slabs and avoid stepping on the joints between them or the cracks in the slabs. It seems to me that this game, like the game of hopscotch, embodies our two-dimensional world and the attempt to break free from it. We got so used to playing this game that even when not playing, we tried not to step on the cracks subconsciously. My mother often urged me to hurry up and stop playing. But I got used to it, or rather forgot about looking down after many years.

What bliss it is to lie on the cool grass on a hot summer day and gaze into the three-dimensional world. Nothing else matters.