Skip to main content

The little things

The path is the same, it seems. The same! But the little things, they change each day. Since I opened my eyes I can see the little things.That does not mean that I see them since I was born. That's not what I'm saying! They have been there, I know, but I did not see them, the little things. I see them now and it took a long journey, a long and difficult crossing, to see the little things along the path. 

I've walked this path every day for a while now. I had walked it before, occasionally. But I did not see the little things then. I'm sure they were there and I stepped on them, probably crushed and even killed a few, but I did not see them. 

My mother, I think, when she was around, saw the little things and tried to show them to me, but I did not see them. There was no time for the little things then. I was in a hurry, I had things to do, I was angry, I ran fast. No time for the little things. She found them on the air, up above, usually. The trees, the flowers, the birds, the skies... They can be anywhere. Now, I know. 

I appreciate what she tried to do, my mom. But there is a time for each one of us. And, then, it was her time, not mine. Her time to see the little things, to appreciate them, to savour them. Now it is mine. They are not up above, the little things I see. They are mostly on the ground, scattered, simple and beautiful. 

It was only when my heart expanded and I opened my eyes that I could see them on the same path I've walked every day. They are bright, luminous and shiny. They are leaves, green, new, brown, dead, dry... They are seeds and flowers, buds, blooming, dying, dead, colourful, alive... They are ants, working hard, determined, carrying the weight of the world, diligently, faithfully... 

They make me happy, the little things. They show me beauty, delicacy, impermanence, hope. The wind brings them, man sweeps them away. They come back the other day, they insist on their right to exist. 

They are there for everyone to see. They are there on the path, along the way. You may see them too when you make your journey, when you cross your thresholds, when your heart expands and you open your eyes. You may see them, the little things, and may they bring you happiness too. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I upset people (This may be the first of a series)

I feel I upset many people. Maybe it is something I do, but the feeling I get is that what upsets them is the way I live, the choices I make. People get upset with me when they hear I don't believe in God. If I tell them that I once did, but have lost my faith after I lost my first child, a premature baby, they fail to grasp the complexity of it. They look at me with irritating condescendent pityful eyes and they think I can be "fixed." To be fair, maybe I fail to help them understand that after what happened to me, God as I came to know it and most people of Christian beliefs do, is of no use to me.  God proved himself either nonexistent or useless to me when my first born died and when I almost followed him due to Eclampsia and Hellp Syndrome (Go ahead and google it! Unless you are doctor or had someone in the family who had this, you will never know it.) He did not save my baby and he did not spare me the excruciating suffering I had to endure. And if you think I...

Once

I once dated a werewolf            Eyes like flashlights           showing the path I once walked the path I found lost words I found lost pain I once threw my car from a bridge In the highest speed When street lights seemed like flying arrows and the water from the lake was a dark brick wall I once threw stones at the windows of the moon and sailed a boat of stardust in a lightless night I crossed the borders in disguise and spoke a million tongues I now decided to forget I once danced with a king on top of the highest tower No one ever saw the king No one, but me I once was a speck of dust I once was a grain of sand I was part of a hurricane And I landed on another land I once dreamt new dreams and wrote them on napkins I once wrote poems on spaceships and lies on  pages of ancient books no one ever read I once took a look I once took a pick I once took a bite It did not do the trick  ...

The child that did not stay

I remember expecting a child that never came, a child I never held in my arms. I remember expecting a child who would have his father's hair, his kind eyes.  He would be curious of the world and I would follow closely all the things he would see with enchanted eyes. Everything would be new for his new eyes. Those were the words of a song about someone else's child, a song I used to listen to while waiting for this child. I remember dreaming of his future, of his smiles. I remember my hopes for him. He did not want me, this child. He did not stay.  He was not interested in the playground in front of the building we live. He was not interested in having my hand holding his while he walked his first steps. He did not care about the flowers, leaves, little dry sticks that fall from the trees in our neighbourhood. He did not want to listen to the slightly out of tune lullabies I was going to sing or the stories I would read at bedtime. He did not even care for the milk, all th...