We were talking this afternoon about weather as a metaphor for the changeability of our states of mind, and we were also talking about the hazards of hanging on to what bolsters the 'me' at nearly any cost.
And I remembered the passage below that I read yesterday ... written by William Blake who offers this:
'The meeting and parting of living things is as when clouds having come together drift apart again, or as when the leaves are parted from the trees. There is nothing we may call our own in a union that is but a dream...'
