Life With Toast

The only constant

Turning the corner of one of the thousands of little streets in the tunnelling Medina of old marrakesh, I am assaulted by scents of cumin, fresh paprika, leather. I step out of the way of a donkey cart, the driver slapping and yelling at the animal to continue. The giant wooden wheels of the cart hop across the uneven surface, uncomfortably close to my foot. The criss-cross roofing above drapes the street in a lace of shadows, and I can't help but pull out my camera for a picture. A tall man in a orange robe and white cap immediately starts yelling at me and runs in my direction, his arms waving and pointing and big beard swaying slightly from side to side. No words are understood between us, but the idea is relayed. Photos were not welcome; I still got a couple. 

Going to Morocco, or nearly any trip to a foreign land presents change. The cliche thought appears - people really do live differently than me. This is change like the ocean is water. A vast, unmovable, horizon swallowing type of presence. Sprouted in every sight, sound, scent, touch, and taste; delivered in a format nearly every human can understand. This change grows and turns it's vines around your legs and sets you to straight to stand and face it. But change is not always so brash and visible. Yet it always here, moving and swirling in every part of our lives, inseparable parts of the same machine. To say we do not exist without change is to say that a wooden bowl does not exist without a tree or heat without the sun. We are the product of change, made up of it from start to end. 

Yet the modern world has built walls around change. Portraying it as something to avoid, to isolate in hopes of presenting a world unshakable and secure. Mammoth metal buildings with street signs and intricate sewer systems. The driving force of the 21st century. But it is worth reminding, in fact it is a healthy reminder, that this is a facade. We are nothing more than a recyclable cluster of cells on a rock spinning around billions of other rocks and so on beyond our imagination. This is the only constant we have, the only place to call home. But look around and see the pain we cause ourselves by holding on to things long swept away by change. Chasing after footprints taken back by the sea. In our natural tendencies to learn and not repeat mistakes we dig into what has happened to shape what is to come. But change waits for no thought, leading us to slowly and inevitably lose this bigger perspective in the mundane daily frustrations and fixations. For me, it's not about thinking about how I am damn impermanent and shooting pitiful looks all around. We all take time to sit down and relax in one way or another, sometimes when I do this, I shake off the weight of being human and try and let what is underneath appear. Let change be.