09/30/2013
The process of dying is so colorful
the plight of falling
the journey of change
from new to crumbling
from fresh, green and shining
to a skeleton
The process of dying is more beautiful
even than birth
in its variety of colors
its seasons of wilting
its times of being bright with agony
speckled with the unknown
always in process
dying
bright and beautiful
sad, willing to journey away from perfection,
away from the pure self
to the collage of idiosyncrasies
the melting pot of disasters, tragedies, celebrations, successes
in the name of a life headed towards death
lush green ever transforming to bare bones
and branches
that have their own story to tell
that never went anywhere, all along,
whispering their reason for existence
without moving or changing
while being a skeleton for the myriad of colors,
tears, raindrops, snow shelves,
everything.
The dark green of things
is painful as it shifts, reminding us ever so slowly
of what care is
reminding us of the constancy of all things
whether life or death,
whether being born or dying,
there is always a color of some kind
there is always something speaking its own language
there is always a dream
in everything
always something too beautiful to grasp with a
pair of eyes
always something going by unseen,
something being missed
but everything that dies was once born
everything old and tired
was once young and fresh and fertile with brightness
as its own beauty passed it by,
too much to see all at once
with such young eyes
such a young heart
it is only as we age we can see and feel this changing,
this weight of difference,
this sadness at missing some things
in order to preserve others
this sacrifice we must make
of releasing moments gone by to be present
for even one second
as life pours gifts all over us
and opens up space for just that second
and opens our hearts to everything sometimes
so we can see the changing of colors
and remember everything leaves.