Saturday, November 21, 2009
Look at the way she desperately clings to that last bit of color. The golden hue does look beautiful compared with the death that surrounds, but she has to let go sometime. And sometime soon. It's the only way to live.
Her brothers and sisters have relented, dropping their leaves according to their natural rhythm. They will sleep for a time, barren and bleak, their limbs etched in jagged charcoal streaks across a still gray sky. The earth will wait.
But does she not know what she's waiting for? Does she not know what comes after this death? Has she not felt life surge within her before? A life that can be birthed only through a dark, wintry death?
She must release the beauty for a time. She must give up the external. She must experience the pain of exposure, the reality of the ugly and the discipline of sacrifice. She must let go.
But only for a time! As the earth slowly emerges from death and draws near to its source of light, beauty will be born once again. She will feel a new strength coursing within her. She will be startlingly vibrant. She will be stunning, mature, and full of life.
As long as she first chooses . . . to let go.