The Season of Life

The season of summer is one of which I find myself intrinsically intertwined with. The season of sunlight, of joy, the season which begs one to embrace life itself.

I rise in the early hours of dawn alongside the Sun who is, too, eager to rise from his deep slumber. The Summer Solstice marks my calendar. The longest day of the year, where the Sun rises and sets at its most northerly points, trudging along the wide blue sky at a slow and steady pace.

The fundamental aspect of this day is to become completely, unapologetically, engulfed by the living world around me. I wander into the exterior realm, no matter the location I might be residing, to become one with life.

I close my eyes. I am human.

I deeply inhale, yearning to plunge into the atmosphere that surrounds me. The air is moist, and I find myself immersed by its thick presence with each step that I take. It lays heavy on my skin, not in an uncomfortable manner, more so perhaps as a simple reminder that I am not alone.

It is a warm hug, the humid air of this season, and a hug does, after all, often provide a sense of solace. A hug is an intricate indication of our existence as living beings. A touch so intimate, so close, one that briefly permits us to seep amongst another. Skin to skin, heart to heart, I gain a swift glimpse into what their reality may appear to be.

My feet, exposed to the external environment, sink into the damp ground, delicate drops of dew dappled across the blades of grass. I am transported to my experience as a child with each bare step that I take, the raw unfiltered action so undeniably reminiscent of juvenile innocence. To be human is to endlessly search for the simplistic pleasures of youth. We search for this pleasure in every crevice and corner, in each artificial creation and desperate determination for materialistic amenities, yet the answer lies simply before us all.

I am joyful amongst the natural, I am embraced by childhood naivety once more when I allow myself to surrender to the presence of life.

I close my eyes. I breathe, I shift into that which surrounds me.

My limbs stretch lazily outwards, increasing significantly in both length and width, yearning to make contact with the nearest object. A shiver shoots down my interior, a striking spark of exhilaration and curiosity, extending to the bottom-most point of my being. My roots, thick and virile, delve deeply into the soil, coiling and twisting with the intention of consuming the nutrients of the earth. A light touch of another root is all that is necessary to send a jolt throughout my system, a zing of elation upon this contact with another being similar to myself.

I am a tree, certainly; my fleshy skin replaced by rough bark, my individual fingers merging into a new figure, one that extends towards the sky and is scattered with dainty leaves and saccharine fruits.

Perhaps I am not so different from these vast creatures, their trunks a human torso, their branches that of a human limb, a vascular system that carries life weeps for life lost. Their act of sacrifice is one of love: we extract their oxygen, we disrupt their ancient roots, yet surely this is an act of self injury upon ourselves? How might I live, if this life of mine is at ceaseless risk?

I close my eyes. I breathe, I allow my feet to carry me across the earth’s surface. The terrain beneath me slowly shifts as does a blooming flower in the early stages of spring. The blades of grass intertwine with granules of pale dust, gradually overtaken by the vast amounts of sand. I have arrived at the new destination, the next space in which I may be one with life.

The miniscule grains seep between each gap of my toes, cautiously congregating as a thin layer across the surface of my bare foot, whilst I observe the boundless beauty before me. The sea, a blend of turquoise, azure, navy, the hues melt into one another as though they are watercolors on a canvas. A canvas of which I must immerse myself within. My feet increase in speed, my arms flail about, the wind whistles as it rushes past my ears. I meet the water in a clumsy collision, white froth exploding from our impact.

I close my eyes. The agitated crests surrounding me settle, and I lay gently atop the ocean’s surface. I breathe in, I breathe out.

I breathe in, I breathe out. The movements of my being swell at fluctuating rates, I crash aggressively down, I lap gently across, at times I remain almost completely still. The stillness is where I might find the most tranquility, where I am allowed the time to reflect, gifted the time to simply be.

I am a witness to life, to the creatures that reside amongst my essence, I sense their motions with each instant the Sun inches across the sky. The intricate shuffles of a starfish, the gentle swish of a parrotfish tail, the booming splash of a humpback whale. I must surely be the ocean, the source that intertwines all life indeed.

The liquid that runs through my veins might be the very liquid that charges through river systems, that rushes down waterfalls, that trickles in droplets from the heavens. Yet surely my veins are clogged with the gluttony of humanity, how much longer may I be permitted to live and breathe?

I open my eyes. The Sun, in his glorious display, appears to be nearing the western horizon, an obvious indication of the gradual ending to the Solstice. I gaze directly at the shining sphere, despite any negative implications this may carry, entranced by some hypnotic spell. It envelops me, it overwhelms me. I am light. I breathe, I close my eyes.

Light emits from my being as striking rays across the Earth’s surface, brilliant in its purity, blinding with its sheer luminance. I radiate an intense heat to feed the flourishing life, I am life, an incomprehensible joy surges through my core. I bask in the warmth of my own bright beams, I must.

The season of summer is sprinkled with beckons from the universe; the branches of a tree reaching out, the swells of the sea waving, the soft graze of the Sun’s warm lips against your skin. This time may be tainted with a murky memory, a miserable moment of seemingly impossible rectification, yet the pleasures of this plentiful period are impossible to ignore.

The Moon now rises from her slumber as I prepare for my own. When I close my eyes this time around, I am not human. I am not a tree, nor the ocean, not even the Sun himself. I am simply life.

I am alive. You are alive. You live, you breathe. The world around you breathes. And so, you are.