Aging Lake

I'm at an age where I'm no longer young, and you still can't call me old. I'm in a place of transition. It's been tough to place myself in what I should be doing or where I am heading. Almost everyone is slowly growing up to be their own person and self. It's bustling, chaotic, and unassuming.

 

Reservations flock to my head. I can no longer discern if I'm still walking my life as I should be, whether I'll find myself, how about a great career, talks of love. The surmount of pressure to be the person I wanted to be is suffocating, piling on the time draining from the clock.

 

There is this lake that I like to visit often. I could let the sweet monsoon drift my mind beyond my headspace. My favorite hour is when diamonds ripple in the heavens and earth as the moon kisses the lake, and the faint fresh, salty, and earthy breeze engulfs my senses. That picture-perfect hour before the sun's rays reach the shadow cast off our limbs. With that hour, yellow evening primrose blooms, foxes lick the dews from the leaves to nose along the edges of the lakes to trace the scent of rabbits and ducks, and fishes in the lake continue to change seasonally and through the decades. I am standing on its shore, surrounded by all this life.

 

Meanwhile, the world goes on swiftly.

 Under my breath, I tell the moon,

"Be still, dear soul, and stay unwavering.

Both earth and sky stand as vigilant witnesses.

Though sand is draining from the hourglass, and your strides, which were confident and quick, have now tread a gentle pace.

So, linger if you must, but allow

the heart to play its authentic melody."

 

As the hour passes, clouds gap in the middle, allowing the sun to stretch its limbs, slowly changing the heavens to an ambient orange hue and overtaking the rippling waters into a citrine-glistening crystal lake.

Meanwhile, the clear pebbles of dew are moving across the landscapes.

Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the orange air, are heading home again.

 

On the top of my lungs, I yelled to the geese.

"I'm giving in!

I will not hesitate to take in all the flooding and unexpected feelings of joy.

Wisdom eludes me; I'm not very often kind; I might be irredeemable. Yet,

within life's unfolding, possibilities emerge. This may be my way of fighting back a rebellion of sorts.

I don't have to be virtuous.

I don't have to walk on my knees across the repenting dessert.

I have accepted that I'm vulnerable, weak, and frail.

I'm a soft animal that burst forth its hard shell

I let myself love what I love without reservations or explanations

And just walk into the lake with socks on.

I stand flawed but alive.

 

Walking back after witnessing all the divinity miracles of our Creator.

Indeed, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood.

I for sure know I was blessed. The Creator showed me the gates of life through his creations. How many changes happen in one's life?

 

In a short period, he assured me to take my time and be still, to trust my heart and the path it chooses. To ground myself and loiter in places of beauty that keep my soul happy. See things surrounding me in light of divinity, beauty, and gratitude.

 

Accept all forms of light and learn to grow from each grain, allowing myself to shimmer even with its faintest glow. Be it the glow of a yellow primrose at night or a limb of the sun that wakes me up in the morning, such a lamp I carry will always guide my path.

 

How all people come from delight and scars of damage. We are neither solely one nor the other. Endeavoring to mend the fractures in mind, heart, and life, we navigate the delicate spaces. A wise whisper cautions against embracing those who claim possession of all the answers, urging a perpetual distance from such certainty.

 

There's nothing wrong with letting go; change is beautiful, and I must embrace it fully and wholeheartedly. I now know that. I now see that. As said, my prayers with the moon and the diamonds it created followed, but soon followed the citrine in heaven and lakes. Though I was scared for a bit, hurt, and resistant, I knew holding on would hurt more.

 

The world extends its open hand to my imagination, beckoning like wild geese, both raucous and exhilarating, marking your belonging in the vast family of existence. And in the sanctuary of my heart, a constant, inviting space for the ineffable, always.

 

To let God and the world know I'm grateful. Grateful to feel joy, to love deeply and without patience. I am thankful to be vulnerable and be accepted. To protect the only life I've known.

 

All of these came after a short natural immersion and an aging man at a little pond nearby. As my age sprouted another leaf,  I was reminded to be still, hold on to my peace, and create the space I wanted to build: a place rooted in love and kindness. To cheer and share all the lessons I've folded and kept in the bags I carry. Words shared by friends written within the pages or neatly wrapped gifts from life. I've been grateful that no matter how long I've walked this earth, I'm still following the migration pattern of a wild goose- braving harsh winds and sea, beginning transformation, growth, and freedom.

 

Though void of stagnancy, the pressure of society to mature quicker will always loom. I know that this emotion I share transcends the people like me. No matter who you are or how lonely you are, breathe and find solace in nature. It answers our worries. Let us continue the journey we started and travel it at our own pace. This journey is something we have to fulfill and discover on our own.