Mr. Keith & Ecclesiastes & The Law of Impermanence
I’ve learned my young spirit fools people. It’s light in stride and eager in curiosity. Yet, when it’s met with my old disposition birthed from the upbringing in Cleveland, raised among men both fractured and faithful… it always catches people off guard.
From players to prayers, to “so called” pimps to pastors… I’ve listened to them all try to fill their pastures. Some planted wisdom, some scattered weeds. But the lessons took root regardless. Still, there’s a vast difference between observing men from a distance and sitting at the feet of one I respect. That difference is what I find in my conversations with Mr. Keith.
Last week, over the quiet kind of dialogue that only age can carve, Mr. Keith shared the kind of wisdom I’ve learned to cherish… stories that confess weakness while pointing to strength. Pathways worn thin by trial, but kept open for someone like me to walk behind.
We spoke of impermanence… the universal law that nothing in this life remains the same. There’s a rise and fall… an ebb and flow. We opened the ancient poetry of Solomon found in Ecclesiastes, where he captures the same truth:
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)
The law of impermanence is a compass that points us toward trust. Because if every joy is temporary, so is every sorrow. If every birth carries eventual death, so does every loss open the womb of something new.
Mr. Keith reminded me that the seasons we resist are often the ones shaping us most deeply. The hard winters of life that feel endless are, in truth, just one movement in the symphony. No note lasts forever… not even the ones we wish could.
That’s the sting and the sweetness of impermanence. Time spent with loved ones, no matter how rich, will eventually be folded back into memory. But memory itself is a form of eternity, allowing us to carry them forward. Every embrace is temporary, but I’m learning its imprint doesn’t fade.
I’m also learning to stop clinging. To loosen my grip on how long something should last and instead honor that it did. To meet each season with gratitude, not demand. To trust that the same God who allows one door to close also holds the key to another.
Nothing can last forever… not even pain. Not even joy or the presence of the ones we love. And maybe the point is not to force permanence where there is none, but to embody presence where we are. It’s a lesson I needed Mr. Keith to remind me of. That when Ecclesiastes says there is “a time for everything,” it’s not a warning to fear change. It’s an invitation to trust it.
And so, I’ll keep walking with my young spirit and old soul… holding the stories of those before me as lanterns for the road ahead. With every step, I’ll try to remember what Mr. Keith’s voice echoed fom Ecclesiastes: this too is a season. This too will pass.
We’re all responsible for ourselves… and that means learning to trust the timing of even tough times, knowing impermanence is not our enemy, but our greatest teacher.