Yikes - it's been almost an entire month since my last streak of writing on 200 words a day (yes I'm stretching the name out because I really don't know how I'm going to get to 200 today) and I can hardly believe it!
It's funny how time moves as you get older - the velocity feels incredible, as you go from blurry days to blurry weeks to months and years. I'm still in the weeks phase of the propelling, but I sense the impending truncation of all things. How moments explode, collapse and disappear, how conversations that feel ground-shattering lose their sheen, and how quickly.
To me this all explains how we as humans age, how our mellowness develops over time - seeping out from experience after experience, like a well in the ground slowly exploding. The firm terrain of life sponging up your understanding of impermanence, becoming fuzzy and soft. Like a rotting fruit, but much more fragrant.
The sweet smell of age dripping from your pores, the diminishing of pride and urgency, and the passionate detachment of your years transforming you inside out. How sweet it is to watch your perspective change, how sweeter still to thank the hands that have moved you. The hands of the ripening and the ruining, the hands of circles around the sun and respiration.
The hands that remind you nothing good can stay, and neither will anything bad.