The Rose Key of Impermanence

"To love fully is to hold lightly. To trust life’s rhythms. To allow beauty to pass through our hands without grasping. And to remember: nothing is truly lost—only transformed." Wakenda Rose

One of the gifts I’ve carried throughout my life is a sense of detachment. I rarely cling too tightly to people or possessions. Letting go has often felt easier than holding on. That’s not to say I’ve never been attached, of course, I’ve had my share of longing and grief, but the overarching theme in my life has been this: release comes naturally to me.

To some, this has felt unsettling, as if I don’t care. But the truth is, it’s not indifference, it’s trust. A deep faith in the Divine. A knowing that what is meant for me will be with me, whether for a lifetime or for a fleeting, tender moment.

Every summer, this truth comes alive again on the land I call home. Each flower and herb makes its temporary debut, bursting into existence in a spectacular show of beauty, only to disappear as quietly as it came, making way for something else. Each one is so achingly beautiful that my heart longs for it to stay forever. And yet, when it fades, I am filled with bittersweet gratitude, reverence, and a love so full it overwhelms me.

Impermanence brings us into the holy immediacy of the now. It roots us in presence, where appreciation can live deeply, and sorrow can pass through without leaving us hardened.

Isn’t this the way life works? Everything has its sweet season and its sacred timing. Some things, like the oak tree, stand as witnesses for generations. Others touch our lives for only a moment, like a whispered blessing.

For me, this awareness has been both humbling and liberating. My heart swells with gratitude and trust in the Divine, because I know now that we are not meant to hold on so tightly. God did not intend for us to cling. We are here to experience the duality of loss and gain, and through it, return to the eternal abundance that is beyond all form.

Life is impermanent. Everything on this earth is impermanent. And accepting this truth is the key to freedom, the key to presence. We can say thank you to what we release, or to what releases us. We need not cling to anything, no matter how beautiful or beloved. We can grieve its passing, yes, but also bow in deep gratitude for the time we shared, allowing its essence to live on in memory as we make space for new blessings to come.

There is a particular flower on this land that has become my teacher. It blooms for only two short weeks each year, bursting with vibrant pink and purple petals. Beyond its beauty, it carries a profound medicinal gift; it once cured me of a stubborn case of strep throat. Each year, I await its return like an old friend. I even plan my life around its season, refusing to travel while it’s in bloom. This year, after its brief visit, I rode my horse into the high country and stumbled upon an entire mountainside blanketed in its abundance. I drank it in, knowing I would not take any home this season. And still, my heart swelled with both gratitude and heartbreak, the ache of wanting it to last, and the surrender of knowing it cannot.

Life keeps teaching me this: Do not hold on so tightly. Care for what you love. Make the best choices you can in the moment. But remember, you cannot know how long anything will stay. All you can do is love it fiercely while it’s here, and let it go with reverence when it’s time. For me, this has been the quiet gift behind everything, a life not defined by what I’ve gained or lost, but by the unshakable trust that holds me through it all. The gift that is permanent: Love. Trust. The Divine.

I forget sometimes. We all do. And when I do, I return to this truth: savor what is here, and let your heart break ever so sweetly when it goes. Because that’s where freedom lives. That’s where God meets us in the tenderness of the fleeting and the eternal that lives within it.