As the autumn equinox approaches and the balance of day and night crystalizes in time, I can think of no better time to reflect on the concept of balance.
Why is it that we so often go to such extreme measures to attempt to achieve perfect moderation? Is there not some beautiful irony in such pursuit? Is there not some agonizing mystique shrouding this state?
What if balance was something we surrender to rather than capture? What if letting it go is the only way to obtain it?
What if instead of charging forward in an mindless, endless cavalcade, we let the world spin beneath our feet? To allow it to aide us in each upcoming feat?
Do we have the courage to become who we are even if it looks regressive?
Because balance is ours if we’re not possessive.