Exiting the Comfort Zone
The Sunday morning walk is a detour from my regular hill climbing onto the more level walk to the Mhatoba temple. The scorching summer Sun virtually roasts the landscape transforming the trees into dry, parched skeletal vestiges. I continue my sojourn along the worn down dusty path watching the Sun emerge far on the horizon. Soon, the rising sun will begin its torment and I pick up pace. I soon come upon a very strange sight. I notice a row of full grown banyan trees, spruced and manicured lining the path. I notice they are at least a few decades old, replete with adventitious roots descending down from the thick branches.They have small plates with distinctive alphanumeric codes on each of them. They were not there a few weeks ago and seem to have materialised out of nowhere.
My curiosity prods me to enquire about these ghost trees, that materialised suddenly. In was then told that these trees, which had to be excavated in the course of urbanisation and road widening from different parts of the city had been transplanted here. I was really taken aback. These trees symbolised a stoic, unyielding permanence, and were a landmark on the ever changing cityscape. How on earth could they be uprooted, transported and then replanted ? I was reasonably certain, that the roots of these trees really burrow and travel large distances to anchor these structures into eternity. And yet, they appeared to thrive post this translocation.
I knew from personal experience, it was one of the most formidable tasks to uproot oneself, disentangle all the attachments and connections established over a period of time, and then drop anchor all over again. Exiting ones comfort zone probably becomes harder as one grows older. Or so I thought. These trees, that were swaying in the morning breeze, looked quite comfortable in their new avatar, and had sprouted new shoots as testimony to their successful migration. Comfort zones were no longer static restrictions. These trees redefined comfort zones by exhibiting an unyielding spirit. The eternity of these trees was not their deeply anchoring roots, but rather, their indomitable spirit to survive and sustain all odds. For them permanence was never subservient to the deep roots that invaded the Terra Firma that they stood upon. They were just a means, that could mutate and adjust to an entirely new location. Permanence was never of the location. Permanence was a mindset. Comfort zone was not about being comfortable. These trees had rechristened comfort zone as 'Survival'.
Long live their spirit.
The Sunday morning walk is a detour from my regular hill climbing onto the more level walk to the Mhatoba temple. The scorching summer Sun virtually roasts the landscape transforming the trees into dry, parched skeletal vestiges. I continue my sojourn along the worn down dusty path watching the Sun emerge far on the horizon. Soon, the rising sun will begin its torment and I pick up pace. I soon come upon a very strange sight. I notice a row of full grown banyan trees, spruced and manicured lining the path. I notice they are at least a few decades old, replete with adventitious roots descending down from the thick branches.They have small plates with distinctive alphanumeric codes on each of them. They were not there a few weeks ago and seem to have materialised out of nowhere.
My curiosity prods me to enquire about these ghost trees, that materialised suddenly. In was then told that these trees, which had to be excavated in the course of urbanisation and road widening from different parts of the city had been transplanted here. I was really taken aback. These trees symbolised a stoic, unyielding permanence, and were a landmark on the ever changing cityscape. How on earth could they be uprooted, transported and then replanted ? I was reasonably certain, that the roots of these trees really burrow and travel large distances to anchor these structures into eternity. And yet, they appeared to thrive post this translocation.
I knew from personal experience, it was one of the most formidable tasks to uproot oneself, disentangle all the attachments and connections established over a period of time, and then drop anchor all over again. Exiting ones comfort zone probably becomes harder as one grows older. Or so I thought. These trees, that were swaying in the morning breeze, looked quite comfortable in their new avatar, and had sprouted new shoots as testimony to their successful migration. Comfort zones were no longer static restrictions. These trees redefined comfort zones by exhibiting an unyielding spirit. The eternity of these trees was not their deeply anchoring roots, but rather, their indomitable spirit to survive and sustain all odds. For them permanence was never subservient to the deep roots that invaded the Terra Firma that they stood upon. They were just a means, that could mutate and adjust to an entirely new location. Permanence was never of the location. Permanence was a mindset. Comfort zone was not about being comfortable. These trees had rechristened comfort zone as 'Survival'.
Long live their spirit.
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