“Winter is knocking its doors as I sit by my window. The wise maple tree had sensed its arrival long before the leaves had begun losing their verdant youth. They mourned, turned amber with shame and remorse for a life lived in waiting for the day to come. Transforming, they were saddened to attain their end, and yet failed to see the beauty, their beauty also lies in dying. All the leaves had reached the amber state, but a few ascended to yellow gold. Most just let go of the branch, crumpled, drifting, flying aimlessly in every direction the wind pushed them. They had lost their will to live but the desire to stay hanging on to what they called life, remained.
The scarred branches displayed the wounds from shedding their ego, a few leaves hang on thinking their fate will be different. As if they will be spared the pain if they had a bit more time in this Dunya. The tree looks at its naked self and claims “I am egoless”. The Ruh looks sadly, responds, “you fool, a whole lifetime has gone by, your conceit blinds you”. You confuse less ego with the loss of ego. Being without requires taming your desire to even make a claim. The loss of self is the ultimate gain. Celebrating the loss or the gain is the ego rising. The tree shudders in fear, would he live a different life if there were a next time? Yet, he is a recycled life with old wounds and scabs that take on new nodes. The branches kneel in supplication, praying for the next spring, and the tree feels Allah’s mercy, and wonders, perhaps this time he can prepare to learn to die again while he is alive.
The suffocating past does not release me of my guilt though it does not exist anymore. I walked throughout my life collecting crumbs, hoping they will satiate the years of hunger that I have ignored, while carrying a basket full of bread upon my head. The past is a tale of redemption, yet I yearn for the pain and forget the lesson. Past is bound to be repeated unless redeemed. Pain dissipates, transfers and it transforms, only if you let it evaporate.
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