Just like a blade of grass

• Feast countdown = 19
• Cravings = Pulled pork barbecue sandwich
• Cravings distraction = Writing

I find that the littlest things in nature can give me peace of mind.  Just the other day, I was walking along a familiar path in the local park just as the sun hovered eye-level on the horizon and lit up the tall grass around me.  I stood still and alone to take in the sight.  Each head of grass, waving independently but not distinctly in the wind, created a golden sea of swells and whispers.  It was a beautiful mass of movement.

As I stretched out my hand to touch the individual stalks of grass, though, I was overcome with how fragile and yielding they felt.  They're at the utter mercy of the world around them, their life cycle fleeting and indeterminate.  Yet they stand tall now.  I don't know why, but I looked over them and thought of all the people to walk this earth, past and present, and the snatches of time that they were each allotted here.  So many different life experiences -- the vastly varying levels of suffering and joy, for no apparent reason at all -- blended together into a raw, shared beauty.  

Life is brief, the passing of time and aging always difficult to handle, and we each want to mean something for the little time we have here.  Counter to my typical feelings of fear and helplessness when faced with these truths, the notion of a common human struggle surrounded me and filled me with gratitude and peace.  I have a precious gift, inherently more valuable because of its eventual end, and even more reassuring given that countless others before me have walked where I've walked and felt what I've felt.

Coming to grips with my fragile sliver of time here hasn't happened overnight.  It's a slow, difficult process.  And even though I can't even put it into words well enough here, I'm starting to make peace with it.  

"For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon the inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils."

William Wordsworth