The Time of Our Lives
This, then, is what we are given. ten or twenty thousand days wherein we watch a billion leaves born then blush, fall turn to earth, to silt, to ash so soft it will not bear a name. from this black dust we make our things, clothes shelter, jewlelry fiction-- stories in which we seek conclusion, our highest and most dangerous invention. for this culling of days this harvest of dust gathers meaning only by our watching, our being, our sensation of what is forever being given-- that our bodies are really only leaves seeking light loved at last by the wind Tony Taccone
2 Comments
Allison Reed
11/28/2020 08:34:37 am
thank you Robert. This message is like a mantra for me lately. Impermanence. It’s like this. What a relief, even as I feel the sadness. The truth is real and it opens me to Wise View... to the four Noble Truths.
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