Watch the time flow by. The middle of the month has arrived and I feel I’ve accomplished far too little. I’ve had some good times this month, and done some things I’ve needed to, but I have a long list of things to do.
Today I brought an ivy plant back here. My room’s stark white walls have been bothering me lately, seeming too bleak and devoid of life. The small orange pot and the spread of green leaves enlivens the room more than I expected. It’s comforting to have another life here in this room, even though it may not be sentient.
I suppose I miss the growth of my rural home. There was always so much life around me there. Here in the city there’s a different sense of life, one more uniform and with a different kind of diversity. In the city there is mostly diversity in human lives, while in the country there is diversity in universal life, with forests, fields and countless beings interacting. Both have their appeal, but the latter calls to me much more strongly.
I made and hosted a journal for one of my friends tonight. You can find her thoughts at Vivalas Viavlos. She’s an interesting lass, and you may find her entries worth reading.
Each day I come to appreciate the beauty of things ever more. You really do find it everywhere once you realize the inate beauty of every being and non-being. Buildings falling apart, head stones obscured by moss, weed-tulips sprouting in the middle of lawns and rusting, abandoned cars are all filled with a sense of life I can never hold on to, but that whispers to me from time to time. There are stories in the things we forget that survive longer than our memories. Learning to remember is one of the greatest achievements one can make, because it gives us a chance to truly see the future and shape it. There’s much to lose otherwise.
3 comments on “Beauty’s In The Ashes…”
The world needs record keepers, scribes to record the great and gentle events. Any time we can help record experiences for others (and ourselves) we are doing good.
You know I never mind rambling.
I noticed those little flowers on that lawn. It’s a reminder of home…the stubborness of those little purple flowers in front of that tiny house on our way to school. How they mowed them like grass but they always return. Those tiny flowers are like a refusal to conform…they’re not like the manacured flowers in proper beds, they just exist and are perfectly happy without boundaries.
You do good all the time, I don’t doubt that at all.