Life has a way of throwing annoying metaphors at you when you least want them. My computer's hard drive bit the dust last week, just as summer was ending. Just as I was finalizing what to write next, making copious notes and plans. Just as one dear person in my life was undergoing a serious lifesaving procedure, and another was veering off in a new direction.
I felt endlessly sad and frustrated and, well, pissed off.
And then yesterday, it rained like hell. No, like heaven had opened and emptied itself, either a giant thunder piss to say, You think you know what life's about? Ha! or to say, Here, let me wash that clean for you. (And by the way, you can't stop the seasons changing.)
You can't stop the seasons changing. You know that, inside, but sometimes you just want to hold on for one moment longer to what you had, whether it's health, love, an idea, or summer. The ocean lolling its waves at you on a hot day, the kind of conversation that feels life saving. But as the Buddha will tell you, everything is impermanent. Not to mention imperfect.
So life, I piss on you. I hate that you've taken my precious things, because to me, possession should be 9/10ths of the karmic law.
And, goddamnit, I love you. Because you wash me clean every now and again, open up new possibilities, make me work hard for what I want, and occasionally, you deliver something quite sweet and beautiful.