Pieces of Patience

When I write Notes in my phone, there's a certain amount of time before the screen goes dark, and I have to unlock it to resume my writing. The cursor blinks at me, as if to say, "I'm waiting." I feel rushed. I don't operate well within time limits. I think at a slower pace than many. We live in a day and age when everything is done quickly, or expected to be, at least. Instant gratification enables "hurry syndrome," while it disables us from finding pleasure in the process. It's a thief of joy. What I like about the page is, it waits for me. It sits before me, unchanged by the passing of time. Pieces of paper are timeless, for they hold the wisdom of the earth within. The trees they come from know the purpose of life is to grow, the meaning of life is to be among beauty, the nature of life is to ebb and flow, and the gift of life is to be given what it needs to survive, while providing others with what they need to survive. They know every season exists for a reason, from root to trunk to limb to fruit. They know the fruit will fall and renew itself. It's the circle of life. And every year, they make an annual ring. At no point, do they skip any part, for each is essential. They know life is about bending in the wind, drinking the rain, basking in the sunlight, and resting under the moon. They know the time will come for everything. In the meantime, we inhale the oxygen they exhale, and the same is done with carbon dioxide. It's an exchange of love, all done in rhythmic pattern. They provide us with the paper I am writing this very piece upon. The least we could do, in gratitude, is slow down. If not for them, we ought to do this for ourselves. The trees will be there whether we slow down or not. It is we who are in need of respite. If they are patient enough to wait for us to kill them, they are patient enough to wait for us to enjoy them. This is all that is intended out of life - joy in the journey. The difference between suffering, and viewing change as a means of getting from one place to another, is depth of perspective. Let us embrace the pain which is part of the process. It is merely a storm to hydrate our soil. The sun will come again, like always. And when it does, we'll thank our pieces of patience.