What if
instead
of calling it
ageing;
we named it
ripening?
Seeing
in
each passing
stage of life
the
beauty
we ascribe
to
Seed,
Shoot,
Leaf,
Flower,
Fruit.
Never asking
one of them
to be,
or
remain as,
another;
but delighting
in their
present
presence
as a gift
from each
season.
Each perfect
and apt
in their
own
time.
What if
instead of
calling them
wrinkles
we saw in
them
only the
evidence of
experience?
Counting them
the way
children
count the
rings of trees;
delighting
in them
as
signs of
stories
to be told;
wisdom lines
to be
wondered at,
whether born
of tears,
or laughter,
or even,
pain.
What if
we taught
the young
to see
the old
as we,
standing back
in awe,
gaze upon
the ancient
being
of
trees?
Travelling to
simply
see them,
touch them,
to be
in their
canopied company.
Resting our
frantic
minds
in their
deep green
slowness,
while imagining
with awe
all that has
passed
beneath their
crooked branches;
the seasons
they have
seen,
the storms
survived,
and
the myriad lives
they have
sheltered
in their
long growing.
So then,
Go out,
go out
my friend
and let
yourself
ripen
beneath
the sun
and moon,
breathe freely
of your
present season
letting
the regrets
of lost time
fall from
you
and fly
like leaves
upon the
air.
Fear
no longer
Autumn's
harvest
or even the
seeming sleep
of Winter
for,
when ripened,
fruit's
earthward drop
frees seed
and
begets
always,
a new
Spring.
(with thanks to our brother Paul Dressler for the beautiful picture of Br. Teobalda of Italy, one of the noted elders of our Order.)
