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Nature's stark indifference is as healing as it is distressing. Standing in the shadows of an old-growth forest, I don't dwell on what "God" is or what "I" am or what the short-leaf pine is (in all the intricacies of its being). I'm simply present to the fact that Mystery is, that I am, that the pine tree stands there in its naked, nameless presence. That alone is enough. More than enough.