You’re at the beach, building a sand castle. You’ve strategically started to build where the water only comes to within 10 feet of your construction.
You dig a nice deep moat to catch the rare, tidal surge but your site remains protected from the waves.
You build higher and wider, packing muddy sand onto muddy sand, buckets and shovels full at a time. Small and large hands aid the work, details taking shape, underground passages collapsing on themselves only to be dug out again.
The water creeps closer. Energies are diverted to deepen the moat and reinforce the water-facing walls. They hold for now.
And slowly, though you have won many battles along the way, you are losing the war.
And you knew this all along. You knew that you were racing time, and you built anyway. You made your best attempt; you dug and diverted your way to a creation that was good enough, here and now, knowing full well what was coming.
Everything is built on sand. Everything passes away. In the face of impermanence, in that moment of acceptance that control is an illusion, to give your very best is an act of courage and resilience.