A Piece of Prose

People perceive all kind of things.


Hilltops crowned with dense forest. The play of the sun with the clouds.

I miss being that Someone who can just let go of all attaining, seeking and searching.

That play of my mind with thoughts and emotions. A repertory of desires and aversions as if they were mine. Are they at all?

Just to be as I am here and now. As flawed as my mind perceives itself to be. Does it see everything there is to see? Who is going to prove my mind wrong?


People perceive all kind of things.


What is the colour of wind?


Growth, the grass whispers to me.

Black ants tickling while running up and down my bare feet. The distant cry of a bird. Layers of lush and pale shades of green. The feeling of harmony and freedom when being in the midst of a big pine wood. The elegant scent of lavender….

What is the wind for the lavender, I wonder? How does it perceive me?


Hidden layers of reality – experience is such a private thing.

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