The Geometry of Letting Go

Dear reader, I have been thinking about how we try to hold onto things that are meant to move. We build fences, we memorize patterns, we try to pin down the exact moment a thing becomes beautiful, as if we could keep it from changing. But nature has a way of mocking our need for control. It curls its edges, it reaches toward the heat, it dances in a way that defies the straight lines we try to draw around our lives. There is a quiet violence in the way a thing unfolds, a shedding of old skin to make room for something more fragile and more fierce. We spend so much time looking for stability, yet the most honest parts of our existence are the ones that are constantly in motion, twisting away from our grasp. If you could stop trying to name the shape of your own growth, would you finally be able to see the color of it? What happens when you stop reaching and simply let yourself burn?

I found this truth waiting for me in the work of Hamidreza Zarini, titled Flame Lily. It is a reminder that even the most intricate things are only here for a season. Does this image make you feel like holding on, or like letting go?