you'll be grown before that tree is tall

I saw Terrence Malick's new film, "The Tree of Life," today. It was one of the most stirring movies I've seen in a long time. I may, though, have been in the minority in the particular theater I was in. Most everyone else in the theater was old and white and I suspect were there simply because "Midnight in Paris" was sold out. The elderly couple next to me were especially vocal about this. The husband repeatedly asked whether "fish was OK for dinner" and if his wife had "had enough yet?" There were a handful of walkouts and a general sense of incredulity at how anyone could be enjoying the film.

I thought it was beautiful, elegiacally profound, and heart breaking. The premise is simple, but timeless in the true sense of the word. It's about a boy, Jack, and his family. A harsh and severe father. A kind and gentle mother. How our parents can shape our affections and hatreds. As an adult, Jack remembers his past after learning of the death of a brother and meditates on life and death in the universe since the beginning of time. Scenes of a family in the midwest and the boy as a grown man are intercut with breathtaking images of cosmic events, prehistoric Earth, and the oceans. The creation of the universe and star-birthing supernovae. The rise and fall of the dinosaurs. The life-giving and destructive force of water. All images of natural phenomena that both destroy and create life. The natural cycle of life is unchanging and the film explores how the human struggle to control nature creates conflicts within ourselves. It's not until Jack is able to accept the immutable nature of life and death that he is able to forgive his father and shed a lifetime of burden. Malick writes - "When he sees all that has gone into our world’s preparation, each thing appears a miracle—precious, incomparable."

The film resonated with me. It was somewhat apropos of what has been on my mind recently. I'm struggling to reach a place where I can be mindful of things without needing to control them. A place where I can be happy without needing to know that happiness is attained.