Poetry, Prose, Photography, Impermanence

The Tree of Possibilities

Impermanence is the only thing that is real

Hope is the thing that brings tomorrows.

Despair binds us to the past.

Equanimity allows us to inhabit the present moment.

Dewdrops glistening on the skin of a succulent only last until the sun’s rays are strong enough to melt them into the atmosphere.

A lunar eclipse morphs from one second to the next, transforming the glowing face of the Goddess from a cratered landscape to a Chesire shadow gliding over her surface.

The “magic hour” glow illuminates Sedona’s Cathedral Rock for just a few moments each evening, when the slant of the sun through the atmosphere is just right. Every second is different from the one before. But you might not notice unless you look away for a few moments and then look back.

And that Maui sunset. It’s never the same, from night to night, or from breath to breath.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the ephemerality of life. The only constancy is change. The lines above, about hope bringing tomorrows, despair binding us to the past, and equanimity allowing us to inhabit the present moment have become a mantra of a sort for me.

This year has been a year of change for me — filled with a few tremendous losses and also with some tremendous joys. I am reminded every day when I immerse myself in nature that without the cycles of death and birth, darkness and light, spring and winter, there would be no contrast, no way to appreciate the sudden beauties. The moments when the blinding griefs grip you would not exist without the presence of whatever has brought you the joy that is lost.

Inhabiting equanimity does not mean “not feeling.” It means the exact opposite. It means feeling every moment, every prick of despair, every moment when you can barely breathe for the sheer awe of immensity which has overcome you. It also means not holding too tightly to any of it.

It’s a lesson that has been taught over and over again by every generation of humans to have walked this earth. But it is one that is not always accessible to us until we have truly lost something that has been a part of our hearts, something that has made us who we thought that we were.

And, so often, it is only in those moments, when we are stripped bare, that we can truly “see” the fabric of reality, with all of its branching possibilities of future and past and present. Look a little closer. Who knows what wonders are waiting for you on those limbs?

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

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Story and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.