! ! This Peach My Teacher

This peach that I’ve just eaten, been graced by, been blessed by, been taught by, been transformed by… it’s as if some Messenger of the Gods had arrived, stopwatch in hand, saying, everything holds in perfection but a little moment - as William Shakespeare noted: so I’m going to arrange things so that as the stopwatch ticks out ten seconds to that moment, you’ll reach out your hand to the fruitbowl, take it, feel its yielding softness under velvet skin, cut it carefully twice through the poles, once equatorially… and as it falls apart, spear one segment; eat… this peach was full of what even Rilke could say no more than, peachness.. it was a living proof of Plato: its perfection taught me where essence meets experience, where actuality meets the ideal of peach; where a singular perfection speaks of all perfections; where perfection leaves from perfection, naught else but perfect… how could such a perfect thing have been invented by one who does not love? Who is not love? This peach is love itself, and I the worshipper must needs make of myself a living God to whom to kneel, to offer praise and gratitude for all perfection known.. this peach my teacher.