Falling leaves

Another day has come to pass and at its end I sigh. Like falling leaves upon a weary tree, each moment of my life may be recounted. As I sit here in this late eve, I ponder where my footsteps fell this day.

What have I achieved?

What have I shown gratitude for?

How have I grown or extended love to another?

Have I challenged myself to make the most of the moments offered me in the glowing light of day or have I simply continued the same routine of waking, eating and merely sustaining life that I toil over each and every day?

No longer in the spring of life, I am moving swiftly through the summer of my time here upon this earth. The innocence of youth has left me but not quite yet has the cynicism and whimsy of middling age caught up with me. I wonder to myself how is it that we come to be here? Sentient, with a compassionate heart and full of joy at birth as life winds ever onwards along the swift flowing river of experience we unknowingly venture into the territory of quiet acceptance that this groundhog day of our existence is stretched out before us in a seemingly acceptable approach to living a sensible, productive life.

I contemplate the so called achievements and pieces of paper I have accumulated along the way, awarding me this qualification or that or filling me with a sense of pride that I have done something that others can approve of or be in awe of and I see that none of them really matter.

They do not define me.

They do not reflect the fire in my heart or the passion of my spirit yearning to break free.

Instead they symbolise my refusal to take a leap of faith. They symbolise my lack of trust in myself, my choices and my instinct. Instead of believing in my self and that sense of purpose to my life, I, like many have sought external approval for my being here.

They represent my self-imposed visual impairment to view this life, my life, as a magnificent opportunity. They represent my refusal to take an optimistic approach to the realisation that I, like all of us are filled with so much potential and that the only one who keeps us locked in this state of day after day conformity is ourselves. We shape ourselves around the mould laid out for us in our infancy and we convince ourselves that this is truly who we are.

We hold so much in the manner of possibility and purpose. We enter into this world as beings unchained to society, free to create the life of our choosing and yet we allow ourselves to follow the path of approval and superficial success for fear of meeting with  criticism or scorn when we deviate from the norm.

Is it really so terrifying to be ourselves? Is it really such a failure if we do not hold the conventional tickets to success? I certainly have not allowed myself to grow as my spirit had once intended. Instead I have willingly pruned my spirit and starved my roots of water and inspiration……but no longer shall I endeavour to limit the growth of my heart.

So what if my trunk may grow twisted or knarled instead of manicured and tamed. A free spirit is found within every tree no matter how spindly or stunted, tall or graceful, smooth or knotted the specimen.

Perfection is found where imperfections reside, where one is true to ones heart felt self.

Another leaf falls from my tree.

 

 

 

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