Ram Dass told an old story in his book on meditation:
“A king asked his wise men for a ring that would make him happy when he was sad, and sad when he was happy. They came back with a simple ring engraved with four words: This too shall pass.”
Did you feel it this week?
Around seven, the light came in lower. Golden. But a little darker.
I saw it in my 7:30 PM yoga class.
The evening showed up a little early.
Nobody announced it, but your body knows.
Summer has started to fade.
And watch what we do with that.
A touch of sadness.
We look away. Back inside. Back to the phone. We leave the party before it ends.
But look at the ring again.
This too shall pass is the hand on your shoulder.
It got you through last winter. It will get you through the next one.
We forget it was built to work both ways.
In joy, we hear this too shall pass as a threat.
The wizard meant it as the second gift.
Passing is not what ruins the sweetness.
Passing is the sweetness.
The peach is perfect for one week. That is why you eat it over the sink, laughing.
The visit glows brightest on the last morning.
The kid’s smallness breaks your heart precisely because it is already going.
And these evenings, the ones arriving right now, are gold for the same reason.
They are numbered.
You do not love summer less because it ends.
You love it like this because it ends.
Joy never needed forever.
It only ever needed you, present, for the part that is here.
So tonight, take one.
There are maybe twenty of these evenings left. They are countable now.
Sit outside for ten minutes with nothing. No phone. No task.
Let the light come in low and do its one trick.
And if the old sadness rises, let the ring answer it.
This too shall pass.
So I am here for it.
Maybe bring someone. These evenings seat two.
The last warm nights of a season are like the last pages of a good book.
You do not skim them.
You slow down.
And when they pass, they will keep their promise, the way passing things do.
Something golden always follows.
That is the other thing the ring knows.
If someone came to mind just now, someone you would sit outside with,
that was the evening, calling you both.
Gently.
The Last pages of a great book