On the move

By the time you see things in a different way, what seemed to be utterly important in your good old days suddenly becomes unimportant. Insignificant matters start to fall out one by one. Like all those brown leaves gracefully falling from the height for the love of gravity. And of surrendering.

Now you can see clearly the true shape of the tree, and all the defects on its skin. But you also see it slimmer than before. You’re in amazement that the tree is actually tall, and has more branches. There. You see. Branches. Places for you to grow anew.

And knowing this gives you nothing but a surge of calm. The old leaves have gone home for some refreshment. A renewal. The defects don’t bother you anymore. Better yet, you don’t care. You’re surprised that you can be heedless and relieved at the same time. As if time acts like a strainer on you now, a very delicate thin layer made of woven light, filtering your thoughts, sorting out the past from the future. So that you can fully understand the here-and-now. So that you can see everything as it is. And be contented with everything you have in hand.

Time. O, time. How very kind.

***

On a morning train to the city of dream.

Started: 29 Nov 2014/06:01. Edited: 30 Nov 2014/13:14