For This Moment I Have

One sunny day, I sat outside basking the warmth from above; though my mind was muddled in quiet reflection. The words “This Too Shall Pass” danced frantically in my mind, escaping me each time I tried to fully grasp its meaning.

As I examined them, I found that they came with a sense of melancholy that caused great distress to my soul. The longer that I pondered upon them, the more confusion arose about this melancholic sensation being evoked.

Then a sudden breeze flittered through the tree above. My eyes shifted to the fluttering greens, the only visual proof of the wind’s presence, and I likened the phrase to the invisible. I saw moments in time as being at the will of the winds.

Sure to come, but swiftly dragged away.

It was then that I identified the root of my sourness. Each time I revisited the phrase, in the form of the breeze, I longed for what had been lost. How could I? I found myself wondering. How could I be at ease with the idea of each joyous moment being swept away from me? That riddling connotation of loss perplexed me immensely as I considered the many people that I had seen find solace in these four words.

How could they possibly resonate with someone? How could so many people find peace from these very words which I ruminated upon, and found mine disturbed…?

Softly, came a flower with the breeze. Supple and tender, it drifted into the embrace of my waiting palm. It brought with it its lingering scent and my frantic mind fell into ease. It had barely settled, my mind yet to determine the exact fragrance that it exuded, when it was taken away by the continued breeze. My eyes trailed after it once my hand failed to keep it. Wistful.

The sudden pang of pain in my other arm grasped my attention. A bee wriggled frantically against my skin. Its stinger was embedded in my arm. I stared in furious awe as I watched the creature pry itself free. It batted its wings and followed away, after the flower floating away in the distance. I sat stunned, wondering what type of bee it was and how to treat the sting.

The breeze continued.

As I made my way inside to tend to the sting, I reconciled my thoughts.

Whether it was the flower or the bee, the breeze was constant. Suddenly, I felt peace wash over me. It was only when I looked past the coming and going of the pair, that I truly found myself in this moment. It was in that moment that I had the joy of the flower. In that moment I had the pain of the bee’s sting. It was for that moment that I had them. Any thoughts I spent beyond that was simply moments given to memories.

With these thoughts, the sour rumination which had festered in my mind had finally collapsed into the solace which I sought.

For though what comes must go… How can I complain when the touch and scent of that trailing flower gave me reason to grow a garden? How can I complain when the sting of the bee taught me to be mindful when pursuing sweet indulgences? How can I complain when the passing of one thing surely brings about the presence of another?

In the pursuit of clarity, I found that the stain of loss was erased by the perpetuity of memories. That the beauty of this moment was having, rather than what was lost.