Acorns

Hey Lucian, do you remember those times when you didn’t know what would happen next? When you were insecure about the future? When you thought that one day you’d know and be more in control?

It never happens, and I’ve actually come to love and live by that. Whenever I try to make things go a certain way or worry too much about the future and try to tighten the reins of control, that’s when nothing goes the way I want and the chariot wheels fall off.

I’ve always dreamed about a future, while living in a present, and looking at the past, I find myself living the future I never imagined. I find myself not knowing what I’m supposed to do.

When a squirrel finds a nut, it just goes back and stores in its hollow, it will be food for winter. I find myself with many of these nuts, but I don’t actually find them. They are given to me, and I take them and store them: childhood, education, life events, emotions, relationships, people I really like or dislike, pain, hurt, defensive systems, a bunch of walls or missing boundaries. I put everything in my hollow—that’s what makes it home. That’s what makes me, me.

Sometimes, however, I don’t want to be me, me. I want to be a different I. So I’ve got to get those nuts out, do an inventory, and see what I can keep and what I can throw out. And sometimes, I want to throw so many things out because I finally realize that instead of acorns, I took pinecones, and they make me uncomfortable and don’t allow me to bring in quality acorns.

The thing is, as much as I want to, I can’t easily get rid of pinecones. For some reason, they stick with me. They no longer look like acorns; I no longer mistake them for acorns—but they are my pinecones. My pinecones, that I’ve long kept and hoped to use when winter comes.

It’s not that simple. Even if I throw away the pinecone, the sweet woody smell remains. And in my blindness, I’ve brought many similar pinecones along… but I don’t yet realize they are also pinecones. And I have to get rid of this one pinecone to maybe be saved from blindness and finally remove those other pinecones as well.

What frightens me is that, in this frenzy of mine, I will have filled my hollow with only pinecones… and when winter comes, I might eat the small seeds but soon realize that I’m left hungry, cold, and stuck.

You see, it is vital you realize this as soon as possible. If you don’t, then you might get angry with the neighbor or acquaintance or friend or family member because they were better at gathering than you. But you don’t recognize you made a mistake, you just feel that it’s unjust that they have and you don’t.

You lose control and fall into rage over people who, in your trouble, pain, and despair, come to help you… and then they go away, and you spiral into saying how society lacks compassion and how there’s no one to help you.

And this column of infinity defines everything about yourself. And everybody knows that in that tree, in that hollow, lies a poor squirrel, hungry and in despair, but for lack of wisdom, it is going to die.

So winter goes on. And somehow, you hold on. You get by, barely. You’re always anxious, sometimes depressed, sometimes fakely happy, sometimes sleepy, sometimes addicted, sometimes lost, sometimes hopeful.

But when you look again and find your situation shameful and your cause desperate, you lose any spark in your eyes, and color fades. And as leaves and branches look dead, so do you. As leaves stay dark and dead on the ground, so you stay emotionally and mentally dead. Not brain dead. Not intelligently dead.

Because you are smart—just not smart enough to realize how wrong you’ve been, and how much help you need.

Snowflakes come and go. Snow sets in. Temperatures drop. People, events, relationships, life that matters, goes by. And it feels so futile, so meaningless, without any purpose.

It feels winter.

But no, you don’t wake up. Like the hibernating bear, you cover yourself in those pinecones. You love that. Like a pig rolling in its own mud. Like a dog who, so loyal to his master, keeps going back to him—even though it is despised, not taken care of, and destroyed, despite its love and fidelity to the one it knows to be its protector, its caregiver, its master. The one who should do all the things for the good of its own being.

So you lie there. Dead.

You say: “At least spring is next, and I’ll get another chance.”

So spring comes. You see a root of hope give into life. You tell yourself you’ll do better this time, you’ll get rid of the pinecones. But when you look outside, you see acorns everywhere, and think to yourself: “I could keep my pinecones… I’ll get as many acorns as I want, and when fall comes, I’ll just replace some of the pinecones with acorns.”

What a tragedy is your life! Wake up, you sleeping insect! Get rid of those pinecones!

You start gathering acorns, and in the back of your mind—always there, like the ever-passing time, like the always flowing stream, or the never-ending echo of the universe—a thought. A never-tiring church bell, reminding you of the pinecones and the wrecking winter.

But you ignore it.

You set yourself in the middle of the strong, furious river waters and hold on to the imaginary, empty rock of your own prideful opinions.

How foolish!

Who do you think you are, that the river would stop in your track? Who do you think you are, that time would stop and wait for you? Who do you think you are, that rocks of thought will give you shelter in the reality of life?

Wake up, you slumbering! Wake up before it’s too late!

I’m crying, shouting, desperate—but you don’t hear.

How sad.

The tears fall down my face—the river of your own downfall. The words that quit my mouth, the wind that beats all of your strongholds.

When will you listen? You can hear, but your heart, a rock of pride, you’re too numb. A dead walking being.

So summer comes. How joyful! The sun shines, the clouds joyfully jump from space point to the heart’s mind, and you feel numb.

You forget.

Life is good. Things go your way. You’re now recovered from the winter suffering, and like water drops, the memory of pain is gone.

But you wait. When the tap finally opens, you’ll feel your entire being chilled.

But who cares, it’s summer, you need to cool off after the sun. You need a little bit of that, “I’m only human after all.”

Yes, you’re right. But you shouldn’t also be “just naive after all”.

Enjoy yourself. The hollow is now nice and full—pinecones and acorns all together.

No way, you actually did it. “I guess this winter won’t be so bad after all.”

Are you that sure?

How do you know the acorns you picked are not pinecones?

Ah, because they don’t look like the pinecones you had?

Yeah, good luck.

Now fall is here. You’re ready this time. You are prepared. “I am smart”, you say. “I am wise”.

You take pride in your exploit. “I did a very good job”.

Oh, here you go, a gentle pat on your back.

It seems you’ve managed to make everyone forget who you are, and successfully sold this image of yourself that you so much desire, so much that instead of actually taking the time to become it, you’d rather forge your way into it.

It does not work!

You know gold gets tested in fire. So where is your test? Where is your hardship? Where are your victories?

You still have your pinecones. And now you added some more. Sure, some are good acorns, but year by year, you’ll gather so many pinecones you’ll have no more place for acorns.

What’s going to happen then?

Oh, you’re going to finally clean up? How assuring. How mindful. How demure.

You know what? I was hoping by winter’s come, you’d actually wake up…

I was hoping I could get the chance, together with you, to get those pinecones, paint them with the red of the injuries you managed to heal, color them with the yellow of the hope for a new beginning you managed to create, and decorate a tree, your own tree, the tree of your life, to celebrate your victory.

Imagine though how deeply sad I’m right now…

I hope to see you soon, my friend.

I hope you get to wake up.

I hope—

I hope I don’t lose hope for you.

Do you remember when you had dreams, unshaken by what might seem?

Unshaken by the struggles and difficulties you’d have to go through?

The healing processes you would have to undergo?

You promised me so much…

You promised me so much…

July 06, 2025