Blossoming

A beautiful male adolescent stands on a diving block, ready to race. He smiles and waves to his friends, watching. His family watches nearby. His body is lean and tuned by his training. He is not still a boy, but has not yet been crushed and contorted in a way that would make him a man. He knows little of the world, and for this reason he has the confidence of a youngster, completely unafraid. This will not last. What will come next will be different, more grief-laden, more lonely, and, perhaps, after what will feel to him like an eternity, more wise.

A beautiful female adolescent sits nearby, waiting for her own race. She is with friends. They talk, but underneath the talk there is a frightening animal movement; a careful, tricky, sometimes sinister sometimes enlivening always wild movement that she is just beginning to notice. She is in love, her first love, and she has not yet suffered heartbreak, so she has the confidence of a youngster, with the passion of an exploding sun. This also will not last. What will come next will be harder, stronger, more terrible, and more terrifying.

Humanity stands ready for its own race. It sees only a short distance ahead: to the end of the 50m lap pool. It has the un-self-awareness of a youngster, and for precisely this reason it throws itself into the water and swims with effortless focus. Waves of passion ripple through the body of its people, beautifully unregulated, exploding at the surface in paintings and political protests and poetry. All seems to be known, and that which is not known seems sure to be known soon. The future is ours! it speaks. It has not yet seen what must be seen, accepted what must be accepted, and in the adolescent beauty of not knowing, it has just this one moment to be free without knowing that it is free. This will not last, and what will come next will not be merely happy, merely safe, or merely beautiful. It may in time unfold into the grief-laden wisdom of an adult. But in this moment it stands confident, ready, and deeply in love. It is so beautiful, so perfect, so poised just right at the cusp of blossoming. The starting pistol fires and without the slightest hesitation it dives into the water.