I found American persimmons at a local orchard–a November fruit that isn’t fit to eat until after it’s been frozen.
Oh, that orange fruit looks so tempting–but it will pucker your mouth dry, dry, dry. Only after the fruit has been frosted and turned brown-black and mushy does it become delicious.
Maybe that’s a bit like the aging body-mind. Only after a lifetime of suffering–whether it’s the paper cuts of daily life or deep trauma–do we ourselves become sweet and ugly.