For a Season

18 Sep, 2024

A series of seismic shifts resulting from circumstantial, spiritual and emotional growth has over time left me with a sense of ever greater lightness, renewal and self-assurance. Like the seasons, with these shifts has come natural change. I can no longer relate to some of the people around me because I could never relate to them in the first place — a consequence of characteristic uniqueness and dimming my light in particular situations to assuage and nullify anticipated distance and disconnect. In large part, this originates from combined sociocultural factors and unhealthy familial bonds. In my behaviour, this often manifested as measured agreeableness and occasional deference to the whims of others. Respectfully, fuck that. Watching the leaves turn hues of brown, gold and auburn, releasing themselves from old patterns and falling to the ground as free agents, stirred into the air and across pavements and pathways to places far and near, the crisp crumple underfoot reminds me that I am not bound to anyone or anything bar that which I choose. In time, new leaves will populate the bare branches of the trees in the same way that birds of a feather will hear each other's song.

Worlds below worlds, worlds above worlds,
Tired of seeking their limits, the Vedas say one thing,
Arabic scriptures speak of eighteen thousand worlds traced to one source.
If it could be written, It would be written,
but the writing passes.
Nanak says, praise the Great who alone knows Itself.

— Guru Nanak¹

Life is too short to waste in the company of those who aren’t in alignment with my worlds. Impermanence is nothing to fear as an immutable fact of existence open to the interpretation of its observer. People are typically around for seasons — in this season, I hope to find and be found by those rare ones whose friendship won’t have me staring at the sycamores outside the restaurant, weighed down by endless small talk, safe humour and a lack of curiosity. The leaves sure are beautiful though.