I am a ball of acceptance, in this moment, anyway, and moment by moment, we build a life, roll a soul. I think now of my mother making fudge. We would watch as she stirred the boiling, sugary, chocolate mass, and then, to test it, she would drop a piece of fudge into a glass of cold water, and when it cohered, slip it with long, slender fingers into our waiting mouths. The soft-ball stage means it is ready for the next step.
I again recommend Orion Magazine and this article, in particular.
I encourage you to read the whole article, Mind in the Forest, An intimate encounter with really old trees, by Scott Russell Sanders and I give you the conclusion to entice you in. He is writing of "our peculiar sort of mind" and whether it "might also be a blessing, not only to us but to the forest, to other creatures, to life on Earth, and even to the universe."
Scott Russell Sanders:
I recognize the danger of hubris. It’s flattering to suppose, as many religions do, that humans occupy a unique place in the order of things. The appeal of an idea is not evidence for its falsity, however, but merely a reason for caution. Cautiously, therefore: Suppose that the universe is not a machine, as nineteenth-century science claimed, but rather a field of energy, as twentieth-century science imagined. Suppose that mind is not some private power that each of us contains, but rather a field of awareness that contains us—and likewise encompasses birds, bees, ferns, trees, salamanders, spiders, dragonflies, and all living things, permeates mountains and rivers and galaxies, each kind offering its own degree and variety of awareness, even stars, even stones.
What if our role in this all-embracing mind is to gaze back at the grand matrix that birthed us, and translate our responses into symbols? What if art, science, literature, and our many other modes of expression feed back into the encompassing mind, adding richness and subtlety? If that is our distinctive role, no wonder we feel this urge to write, to paint, to measure and count, to set strings vibrating, to tell stories, to dance and sing.
May this urge fulfill in each one of us, each night, each day, rolled into a ball, as one!