Caloused senesence


Caloused senesence by

Mary Dapiton

Browsing through time, I have come to realize that the truth you resist is the battle you fight. Ultimately, I never thought growing could hurt this much. Remaining tight in a bud could be excruciating but the harrowing experience could never supersede the sweet embrace of a blossom. I believe it is imperative that at any moment, I should be able to forfeit and surrender what I am for what I can become.

I was driving along Garden Bay Road today and was taken in awe by the marvel of the panorama. The trees arched together like sabers inclined to meet at each point to give away a drama of incredulity. Leaves sporadically strewn alongside the road, painting it like a promenade. As I drove through, at one moment, I stopped breathing and felt my eyes closing as the waft autumn air kissed my face. It was beautiful.

Sometimes, I often wonder, just because things are different do they necessarily mean things have changed? Why are we so afraid of it anyway? Going down that lane again on winter would be utterly different and unsightly but it would certainly be the same road. They say, things do not change. We do. Finding that truth is not much of a feat for me. Seasons may change but each time I go down that same road, it changes me.

Remarkably, life is very much like that. I mused at the falling leaves and admire the wisdom of their reality. The leaves, brown as they are, hued with different shades, mark a generosity that reminds me of how I should be living life. They fall for a reason. The trees have to let them go to live through the austere and cold winter.

An ideal epitaph of altruism.

Indeed, some leaves cling to the trees waiting for the wind to blow them away. Espousing the tragic fall, their story never ends there. Far more than enriching and perfecting the soil below, they bequeath me an explicit endowment of an extraordinary vista of life.

As I passed through the leaves today, I have come to the truth that time changes everything.

But as Andy Warhol elucidated, “ You actually have to change them yourself.”

Groundswell is the season that changes me, forcing me to let go of my leaves to survive the austere winter. It will continue to nurture change until my blossoms will remind the  world that there is nothing more glorious and noble than visiting that sacred part of ourselves that remains unchanged to discover the ways in which we have grown to become. After all, Ghandi wishes for all of us to be the change we want to see in this world.