Being present
The sky stretched before me like vast watercolour painting, each cloud a soft stroke of color drifting slowly across the paper. And yet, the first movement within me was habit of seizing the moment in a frame, as if possessing it could make it eternal.
Its funny, how swiftly the holy becomes the ordinary when we try to possess it. I thought I was admiring the sky, but truly, I was admiring myself admiring it.
What blindness is this, that we choose reflection over radiance? We look at the world through a glass screen and call it vision. We steal light and call it memory. The heavens burn freely before us, but we wish to frame them as a proof to show- i was there. But in the instant, as soon as we try to hold the moment, the hand closes, and the butterfly escapes.
Being present means to refuse the grasp. It is to stand open like the sky and let the world enter you. The wind wishes to be felt, and not photographed. The scent of the earth after rain asks for breath, and not a description of it. The rippling of water and the soft talk of leaves- these are voices to be enjoyed and not sounds to be captured.
Presence is the art of listening without demand. It is the act of letting existence reveal itself, moment by moment, as it chooses. When I truly look, I find that nothing is still. The clouds move, while the light changes, the earth exhales, and even my own thoughts, just like waves, come and go.
If I could learn to be still, even for the span of a single breath, I might find that the present is infinite. The mind says, move on, and the soul whispers, stay. Vastness of life itself lies within a single breath. Its the quiet pulse of creation moving around us. Weather we notice it or not, the world flows gently endlessly, asking to be only witnessed.
The sky does not archive its sunsets and even river does not replay its current. Only man, fearful of loss, tries to freeze what was meant to flow as its nature. But we forget, beauty is not a possession; it is a visitation. It comes as light comes-- to be received, not recorded.
Surrendering the wish to capture is to live presently. It is to trust that what touches you leaves a mark eternal yet invisible and that the sky you saw once will live within you longer than any photograph.
To be present is to belong wholly to the moment, until the distinction between seer and seen dissolves, and you find that you yourself have become the sky.