But it is sad, seeing them grow. It is so tempting to give in to sentimentality, to the “but they were just children yesterday”. I suspect we all do it, at least those of us who were emotionally involved in our childrens lives.
It occurs to me, though, that this sort of sadness has as its basis the notion that such happiness will never occur again, that feelings that have come once will never come again.
Plants are seeded, and they grow, and they blossom, then they wither and die. Some of them are just hiding under the soil, waiting their turn to live again above the ground. Some of them plant the seeds of new plants before they die. In all cases, life returns, in a cycle.
You cannot prevent tragedy, and you cannot prevent change. But you CAN prevent happiness. You CAN limit your life to trees which have fallen, and will never rise again.
Oh, it is so hard to be soft, so hard to be flexible. It is so hard to retain a child’s spirit in a body and mind like mine. But it is POSSIBLE.
Letting go is realizing something is done, and something new is beginning, perhaps something wonderful. And of course we all have some say in this. We all have voices, hands, feet, minds.
“Life” has been boring into me lately, but what is so painful is most likely that, after living in a cave so long, light and water feel like strangers.
I am adapting, though, slowly, slowly, slowly.