Fleeting things are beautiful.
Abigail’s words this morning. And they rang profoundly true in my ears. She said it was a Japanese belief…so, of course, I looked it up.
“The Japanese words “wabi” and “sabi” express the rather complicated feeling we have for this kind of simple beauty; a loveliness that is all the more precious because of the realization that nothing lasts. They describe the quietly moving beauty of a handcrafted bowl that has been handed down in the family for generations—you feel the touch of the hands of everyone who has cared for it over time.”
http://www.analogsenses.com/2015/04/13/fleeting-beauty-what-japanese-culture-teaches-us-about-the-cherry-blossoms/
When we go to Kelley’s Island and settle into the house that my husband’s family has made possible in our lives – I always drink from the same coffee mug. It is made of thick old porcelain with web-like cracks covering the surface and it harbors a v-shaped divot that impairs sipping if held in the wrong hand. It has a gentle flower motif on one side, and it holds a tiny amount of coffee considering the volumes I consume on a daily basis.
But when I hold it, I feel connected. To others who have used it and to myself in earlier visits. It is an important part of my trips to this place. And it takes me back to parts of my life that aren’t technically attached to this place, or this mug — or even these people. I smell grandmas. I see gladiolas. I hear pinochle being played, and Ed Sullivan saying “It’s a really big show…….”.
And you would think that these things just happened yesterday.
And they did. In a flash.
Fleeting things are beautiful.
And everything is fleeting.
Have you ever tried to capture that moment when dawn’s sun has risen enough to bring the color into the day? Each spring, my Steve looks for green. First, he anticipates the red tones in the surrounding woods — the ones that mean that the buds are forming, the green is on its way. Then, as spring progresses, he watches – closely – for the first signs of green. And often he sees it and mentions their hues in conversation. But inevitably — the very next day — the forest is fully leafed — bright and green and glorious. And we wonder how it happened so quickly. And how did we miss its progression?
I am reflecting on loving today. The pain of loving, actually. The emptiness as people and pets are no longer tangibly in my grasp. And as I reflect, and shed tears, I find myself laughing and my shoulders relax a bit, and the tension in my back releases and I begin to hear the sounds around me and watch the people in my midst. This familiar place that I choose to write in is suddenly noisy and I’m less isolated and I welcome the sensation of cold from the vent that has been blowing on my feet. I’m returning, fuller for the reflection I have allowed myself to feel.
Fleeting is beautiful.
When I woke up this morning, it was with a dread full of comprehension of the moments ahead of me. I’ve been down this road before. Full of adult decisions, logical choices, emotional reactions and unimaginable real-life. The world had that all too familiar feeling of haze and vague and slogging through something deep and very unwanted.
And yet there was a rhythmic reminder of life carrying on around me. Husband continuing the tradition of coffee in the french press. Standing close, but giving space. Leaning in, but holding back – respecting the ferocious resolve he recognizes by now. The cats. Belligerently stepping directly across the kitchen table, in view, unconcerned with my presence or preferences. The forest that surrounds our yard boldly laying claim to the untamed grass that continues to climb to new heights.
And I reach down and pet the bony head beside me. For the last time, she bumps her snout on my thigh, leaving a glob of slobber on the pants I will wear today. She sighs heavily and lays at our feet, close to Steve because his legs are long enough to reach her tummy when she rolls onto her back.
And I remember the deer that was injured by jumping off of the interstate bridge in Akron. And the snowy owl who pierced my hand as he faced his own demise. I think of the wife and mother that I sat beside as we waited for life-flight to land. I think of Knox choosing not to go quietly into the night. The fragile bunny babies I tried to save. And the peaceful rest of my Daddy as I knowingly walked away from him the very last time.
Fleeting is beautiful. And it isn’t fleeting.
Those are the moments that return unbidden and soft in my heart. They draw emotion and raise the lump in my throat. They brim eyes already red with tears and their familiarity isn’t a burden – instead, they call to mind life.
Fleeting is lovely and full of life. Living those moments that I’ve lived with dread, or fully present, or deep, if you will — living those moments allows them to be lived again and again. The agony along with the joy. These are the moments that I long to experience when I’m dulled to life around me. And they come, when they are needed.
I’m glad to live today. I’m softly solid. I’m real. I am a truth. I am alive.
wanderingoutinleftfield 