Reflecting on the “busy days” that I’ve been having, I am continually humbled by the many things that I can be grateful for. I really am a fortunate man, to live in a house that I do, to have the relationships that I have, to do the kind of work that I do, yet I continually ask for more. And its not that I’m unhappy with what I have, but something tells me there is always more to be had.
It’s not to say that I look over the fence, and the “grass is greener on the other side.” But perhaps its our biological nature to continually flourish and evolve, to expect a flower to blossom as life should. But at this point, I’ve lost track of which stage of the life cycle I’m living out. Its like life shot on National Geographic where the birth and death are all filmed in fast forward and framed half awake.
Transformation of any kind, like that of the common caterpillar to that of butterfly brilliance is not without a kind of responsibility to the self and one’s environment. Gone are those days of lazy lounging, factory foods, loathing language, dirty doubting, marking below the benches, and selfish sabotage. If butter could fly, would it spend its time on toast and baked potatoes, wasting their life to be melted away when they could fly to far away lands and live the crispy life of chocolate croissants. But when butter does fly, sometimes it’d rather be creepy crawling and eating leaf, but other days it seeks to know how to fly faster through space, say teleportation.
Changes and new ways of living has its limits. Everything is but a novelty, no? My love affair with coffee and complimentary pastries will evidently end in a stalemate, no? Exploration of knowledge, pursuit of happiness, growth of relationships, fulfilling life’s mission – it’s marginal utility served its purpose for the time, but what to do when it starts falling off the graph? Do even these strong states of stature need to be changed like diapers from time to time? The pungent smugness of my underpants are probably due for a new pair.
And so I’m finding I’m that mandarin tree that feels so tall and great, to produce so many mandarins, but perhaps not all have seeds to continually grow. And what was my purpose for even growing mandarins? To make mandarin pie? To speak a language I’d never use? Was I even a mandarin tree, or did my goals of being oranges become stored away in fridges to be peeled for another day?
Nature is a common thread. Seasons change, hot to cold, low to peak, peek below. Who’s never heard of things being created in circles? Things never really change, because they don’t really need to, its always going to be there. The essence of tree, the essence of me, always comes full circle. Beyond all the outward expression and organic energy for further reaching, comes the human need to finally come back to knowing oneself.
The Universe loves to play and I am Its hand in motion, it creates out of nothing, something made of miracles. But when the games are over and its time to come back in, does It ever ask Itself, am I the player or the hand? Why does It asks those questions of why It plays or who’s hand is it anyways. Would one throw everything away just to find it all over again? A fool poses such silly questions, but its only rule is to reveal to himself his own concealed spiritual truth.