back to real

Looking back in gratefulness, experiences so beautiful, meetings so precious, obviously missing now, the heart starts longing for the old, feeling incomplete, painting memories and phantasies in glorious colours, wanting all of it, the old and the new, wanting to know, wanting continuity and guarantees, wanting to escape from the rootlessness and the slippery grounds, the insecurities of life, the fear of not really belonging anywhere, separated. The feeling of heavyness that comes with it, thoughts and feelings, making life so sad and complicated, drawing the focus away from the qualities of the moment.

Back to the simple facts. A chair and a table, the smell of coconut and bananas. A morning yoga class. Talks and laughter on a beach. Diving into the waves. Sun on the skin, and sand, lots of sand. Pizza and a delicious latte. Wind in the face on the way home. A salamander on the wall. Taking down the clothes from the line before the evening rain. A dog in a sofa. An itching mosquito stich. Meetings in a staircase. Fish in a pond, cashews and cranberries. Words and pictures coming and going, like the day and the night. A cat strolling around the legs, the moon and the stars, the stiffness in the shoulders, the longing within, texts waiting to be written. The beauty of the real, only here, pains and pleasures, staying with whatever is, in truth. Lightness of being.