It’s a whisper on the wind, a sudden bloom in the mind. I wonder, what is that perfect state? Is it born of an environment, a certain light falling on ancient stone, the scent of the sea carrying whispers of far-off lands?
Is it a feeling, pure and unburdened, a lightness in the chest that defies gravity? Or is it in the quiet companionship, or even the profound solitude? The thoughts that drift, unbidden and gentle, or perhaps the complete absence of thought, a mind clear as the sky?
Sometimes, it’s an activity – hands busy, mind free, lost in the flow of creation or observation. Other times, it’s a spontaneous moment, unplanned, surprising you with its grace. A place, perhaps, visited long ago or dreamt into being, imbued with the soft glow of nostalgia. The shock of awe, a sudden intake of breath at beauty, at vastness, at a tiny bird resting on a shoulder. A surge of inspiration that makes the world glow.
Is it about connection, deeply felt, or a profound, necessary disconnection from the clamor? How long does it last, this fragile perfection? Does it fade like the light at dusk, leaving a promise of tomorrow, or does it vanish in an instant, a fleeting bird taking flight?
And what comes next? The echo, the memory, the quiet yearning? Can we choose to go back there, to that space where time dissolved and the soul found its true north? How would we know the way, through the labyrinth of the everyday, back to that unique blend of elements that ignited the spark of bliss? Perhaps it’s not about finding the path back, but recognizing the seeds of it in the now, cultivating them for the next fragile, beautiful bloom.
Story and art by Damian Smith
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