Quiet Moments

I’m sat on a hill looking out at my city scape. Next to me sits my friend. She says “it’s nice to be able to sit like this and not talk. Don’t get me wrong, I like talking to you but it nice not to have to.”

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I nod and smile because I couldn’t agree more. I am the silent type by nature. I prefer listening to talking and I enjoy quite moments where I am almost in a trance like state. These are the moments that I treasure–moments when I am lost in the experience. There is no thinking and analyzing, just the experience and the only conversation I’m having is between me and my soul.

We’re used to entertaining others, making them feel our presence by doing something. But it’s wonderful not succumb to this process and just be. Be side by side, be in the moment, be yourself and be ok. If you can feel someone’s heart without reaching out to touch it you know you are in a good place with them.

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What Beauty

I am delighted by the existence of trees and mountains; waterfalls and great beasts. I am entertained by the way your hair dances in the wind. I’m taken aback by the sudden courage of flowers to rise from frosty grounds.

I demand a certain amount of beauty in my life. Because of this I look for it everywhere. I am a philocalist. My eye catches a glimmering sparkling rock on the murky shores and I am in awe. I notice the way your lips part to say hello and I am left speechless. The fruits that bare themselves from May to September make me blush.  I see it all around me. Beauty. There is so much of it in this world.

From people holding hands to babes being born, the world is sealed with a touch of loveliness. One can’t help but smile as the world turns, showing you a magnitude of awe inspiring beauty. If you can’t see it, you can employ your other senses. Listen to the rivers that flow through your cities, the pitter patter of little puppy feet or the boom and clash of rock bands.

Smell the sweet beautiful scent of your true love or the bakery down the road. Run your hands through the leaves just before autumn descends. Press yourself against your lover and hope time will stop. It’s everywhere. The world is made of beautiful things and moments.

And yet, I sometimes struggle to see it in me. It is as if the poetry and romanticism of life stops at me. It sounds so self loathing. But it’s nothing like that. I am well aware that my existence is beautiful and that I am apart of this great beautiful thing called the circle of life, but when I separate myself from that, when I really think of myself as an individual, I sometimes fail to see the beauty that is so  apparent in other things.

You see, I’m ill. Sickness is an ugly sort of thing. There’s nothing beautiful about dying. When I reach out and touch life outside myself it sometimes reminds me of my rotting self which I very much detest at times. Perhaps that is how I became a philocalist in the first place. I wanted so badly to remind myself that life is essentially beautiful and worth living.

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