If the tree keeps its blossoms forever, it can never produce fruit.

Impermanence is not the enemy of oneness; it is how the one organism keeps moving. We tend to grip what is beautiful and call its leaving a loss, but every blossom that falls is a season clearing room for the fruit it was always becoming. Nothing in us is meant to be held in place — the cells that made us last year are already gone, and the self that clung is quietly composting into the self that grows. To resist change at this depth is to ask the tree to stay forever in spring. What in us might be ready to fall, so something else can ripen?