Deep inside the crypt one finds three skeletons in repose, still clothed in their monks robes. Between them is a placard written in five languages. It reads: “What you are now, we used to be. What we are now, you will be.”
It’s as if all the lights on the tree have gone out save one ~ the brilliant angel at the top. From that one light I can still see the dim outline of our tree, still full, still alive, with its many decorations, the experiences of a lifetime, all still there, glowing like ghosts in the fading light.
I was given a rare, literally once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to love someone to death, and I missed it.
We are like trees. Our roots go deep and are hidden. Our branches spread wide to the heavens and sway and grow, never the same today as they were yesterday. Who can perceive the whole of us? Every leaf is a story that makes us who we are.