The Okra Leaf

I was sitting on my patio one late fall, watching the afternoon sun do what the sun does — shining through things, making shadows, blinding me. I noticed the leaf of an okra plant nearby. I was doing what retired people do — looking — and the sun was doing what the it does best — shining through the leaf.The colors and patterns of the okra leaf burned themselves on the back of my eyes. They streamed into my heart. The intensity of my gaze was streaming toward the leaf, a living thing. The line between me and the leaf was non-existent. The leaf was in me and I was in the leaf. We were one; we were two, but first, one.

Here’s a question for you: where does the leaf end and where do I begin? Where is the bright line that separates me from the leaf? I like to have things in well-defined containers. Where does my container end and the okra’s container begin?