It is cloudy out today. My office window is open and I can hear the breeze blowing through the now full hardwood. It is so beautiful, more musical than any symphony.
There are patches of Lily of the Valley right below this window and every now and again their fragrance gets picked up by the careless wind and is blown in here. I close my eyes and breathe it all in, reminded of my childhood, picking these same flowers from the graveyard by where I used to live. They grew there in abundance and despite my fear of "the dead" I would run into the old fenced in crypts, shove my face into their delightful little congregations and scoop up as many as I could, leaves and all. I probably would have sold a bouquet to my Nana because I would have felt a tiny bit entitled or at least worthy of her smiling, big -open-armed generosity. I knew even with my broken and immature mind, that I never had to impress her by giving her anything. And graciously but awkwardly I would have given them to my mother whom I spent a life time trying to impress, without success, it seems. They, the little white happy faced flowers with their lovely perfume always seemed to make her smile. They seemed to be able to do what I never could.
The wind, like my breath, pulls me from my memory and brings me back to this moment. Nana and my mother are gone now, just distant wisps of memory that, like the wind I am listening to, blow through the open windows of my psyche once in a while.
I look through the open section of curtain. All I see is green and luscious out there and it is like "Wow! When did that happen?" I just cannot seem to keep up with time. The world is changing so fast around me, it is a blur. One day the earth is sad and heavy, languishing under the dirty snow of early spring and then there is this. My yard is now flourishing in an abundance of chlorophyll induced colour. I did not see it happening.
Why can't I keep up with the transitions of seasons and the transitions in this thing I call, "my life", I wonder.
Hmmm! Maybe, I know why, after all. My vision has stopped changing. It is no longer chasing or dependent on the objects before it. I am looking out at all this through eyes, though clouded with cataracts and lens that don't refract light the way they used to on the outside, that are clear and changeless. Beneath this body that wrinkles and sags, dying a bit everyday, is this never changing observer of things. There are no calendar pages to turn, no transitions, no ticking clocks in here, though everything that surrounds it comes and goes. There is no winter or summer...just this ; no past or future, just now. When I lay back into its arms, allowing my attention to rest on the changeless, there is no passing of time. So I do not notice the changing world around me the way I used to.
I feel my breath and I listen to this ever changing world as the wind sings so softly for me this sweet lullaby: "Just this! Just this!"
Hmm! All is well.
Oh it is all so confusing...yet beautiful at the same time.
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