An old avocado

I found him this morning in the fridge where I'd put him to preserve his life. As I lifted him out of his cradle, my finger went through his skin and I saw that inside he had turned to pure green powder. I'd left him too long.

I felt a sense of guilt and sadness, as I always have done since I was small child, when food is left unused, mouldy before it can even be prepared. In my early years, perhaps aged seven, I used to count each mouthful of fishfinger and dedicate it to a family member before I ate it, so that it would have a greater purpose in its life than just as my lunch, though obviously that purpose of keeping me alive is great indeed.

I realise now, of course, that my sadness at a piece of fruit without purpose to its life is clearly a projection relating to the fears for my own life, the great need I have for my life to have purpose, and how sad I would feel if I died without having made a difference, and guilty too, for having wasted my talents.

The thing I have just realised as I write, however, is that we often don't know the impact we have on others. We don't always know the differences we have made to the world, however small or great, or however good or bad (though in the long run, who is to say what is good and what is bad - that's the choice we make when we respond to something). Sometimes the differences are right there before our eyes, but we don't think laterally, so we don't see. Despite my sadness at the avocado this morning, my heart is lifting as I see that he provided a space for mould to grow - he was a life-giver for mould.