Mon Cheri, Berkeley, 2007
“More and more I see how true is the Hindu idea that a man may leave family and responsibilities and become a “holy” man, a wanderer, in old age, in order to complete himself – a time for laying aside all that has pulled the soul from nature, from pure contemplation.” May Sarton ~ Journal of a Solitude
Lunch time comes around and I don’t feel hungry. All I want is a break to run out and see you. I drive about 10 minutes to our meeting point. You’re there already, as usual. You’re always there for me. Today is another beautiful sunny day. The light here in Berkeley has been exquisite lately. I’m bringing my camera in hopes of striking a pic or two. I like how the light wraps around and accentuates your delicate features. I want to examine all your hues and shades carefully. I want to study the lines in your profile and their relationship to the sky. I want to capture your confident form and your effortless grace.
I arrive and promptly get on with my ritual of laying out my quilt on the ground and taking my shoes off. I like to feel the soft grass between my toes for a second (and giggle!) before I lay down next to you. Today I don’t need to talk. Actually, we hardly ever need words anyway… I know you don’t expect me to say a thing. When I’m with you, it’s all about our comfortable silence and the gentle breeze brushing against us.
A couple of birds come up to you. I envy you for that. How do you do it? I wonder if you could teach me how to attract beauty and blend in with the natural world like that. I don’t have much time, though. Soon I have to go back to the chores, the job tasks and the structure that keeps me from feeling open like this.
Another breath. The noise and confusion that infiltrate my day have melted away now. In this moment of quietness, poetry and nature… I am complete, I am enough.
A butterfly circles around you, flaps its orange wings and comes to land on my bag.
Tell me… Does that mean I am already making progress?
For more unnamed beautiful things… Go here!
Archive for February, 2007
February 28, 2007