Since he died, I have been “wabi-sabiing“ the hell out of my life. That is to say, I’m trying VERY hard to find the beauty in this imperfection.
But, alas, the realist in me, that he taught me to be, realizes that death encompasses the elemental, and literal meaning of the whole aesthetic, which is sometimes described as one of beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete,” … life itself. 😞
In contrast, the gardener in me celebrates the impermanence of it all. The garden must die, or more accurately, rest. If only beings could just be resting.
Life is so wonderful, yet so terrible. That is Nature, which is pure magic.
He is, was, and always will be synonymous with magic in my heart because he taught me love of all beings, and life itself.
We had 30 years, so wonderful,… I’m still in love with my husband, so terrible he’s gone way too soon.