Within the rush of life, in the corner of your mind, your eye – you sense the moon, the stars. Those mysterious flickers you ignore because your busy. Yet within the thought is your habit, all you have claimed your own, pushing you north, yet, west of you silently, quietly, unassuming, the space it calls you, through pinholes it, like a god bursting flare it pierces that part of you which you disregard, yet somewhere within that ignoring, within the hustle and bustle and knowing and growing a tiny voice whispers, ‘look at me, you who search the perfect, for I am indeed the perfect yet you will not look, you refuse to turn your eye’.
For you are blind. The blind leading the blind.
Can you see and yet be blind ?
Writings © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto; Reflection © Michaela; All rights reserved
There is a saying: The moment a child learns the word “bird”, this is the last time it has actually seen a bird. We name and label the world around us and by doing so, we squeeze a living being into the straightjacket of our mind. Ordinary objects of daily life, if we really look at them, are exceedingly beautiful. Never the same, never dead or dull.
Let us wake up to the beauty of form.