Seasons in our life

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the Heavens. --- Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

An old buddy gal of mine (Onewa, not her real name) called me up recently for a tele-chat. We chat some, and boy, did we chat some. For more than an hour, we chat some.

We shared our experiences, laughed some, moaned some.

Then we spoke about my recent palpitation and that struggle with an unstable BP reading,  We pushed the boundary of medical discoveries and wondered if we might have stumbled on an earth-shattering revelation, viz:

The pharmaceutical industry is a farce, one motivated by greed. They were makers of drugs who knew not what they were doing while we who knew nothing about drugs, knew better.

How was it that we knew better, you asked? It's simple. We knew every folk remedy conceivable, sworn by many to be the cure for the ailment of our times. By we, I meant the coterie of know-alls who forwarded every new health tip they bumped into. It's probably garlic and lemongrass today or screwpine leaves with shallots tomorrow. The secret recipe is tweaked every other week and most of us have probably drank up enough remedial concoction to last a few lifetimes.

Suffice to say, we, of the pill-popping-bruised-ego generation stood steadfast by this statement.  As we popped another pill into our mouth, we resolved that we will make-do with their pills for the time being, while we waited for the day someone else discovered the one true cure, which will require no expensive pharmaceutical branding. 

And while we laughed at the deranged persuasion in the above quote and assured ourselves that the narrative called for it, the sad reality is that Time had passed us by quietly and resolutely. We have now reached another season in our life.

Wouldn't it be great if our lives were governed by seasons we can control? Wouldn't that be hysterically magnificent?

I thought about the tapestry hanging on my wall. If seasons were the colors on my tapestry, and I get to choose the colors I liked, there would be no picture to look at.

The different seasons paint the final picture of the person we become. This picture will be left behind in a world which will continue to spin on its axis long after we leave. When you look at this from the other end of the telescope, isn't life nothing but a chasing after the wind?