At times you are in a place, which seems, not of this world.
There are no raging storms.
There are no gnawing feelings.
The mind is free of turbulence.
The heart is rhythmic in its beating.
It is bliss.
It is a place that you want to spend the rest of your life.
You are happy to have found the key to the Kingdom.
You unlock it and you begin to live each day.
You live a blissful day followed by another and another and so on.
Soon bliss becomes habitual.
It becomes you.
They stop curling your toes.
Surprisingly, bliss becomes monotonous.
Can bliss become monotonous?
Can bliss become commonplace?
Can bliss become a second skin that you do not feel it anymore?
It can.
For you to feel bliss tingle your nerve endings again you have to once again
have turbulence in the mind,
a discordant note in the rhythmic beating of the heart....
That is the sweet irony of life.
An irony that had baffled me until now.
An irony that nature revels in.
It blooms. It dazzles. Then it whithers. To bloom and dazzle again.
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