There are things I want to write about, from today in particular, and yet yesterdays’ thoughts seem to take over my mind which dictates what my writing hand can do. The thoughts are no direction in any sense: simply they are a reminder that such exists, that there are things that may still surface once again sometime tomorrow, and who has yet to be told that it is better to have done today what can be pushed for later?
These days I want to un-learn that and replace it with the more efficient skill of waiting. On one hand I know that it is just as possible that tomorrow everything of today and the previous lifetimes could vanish without notice; on the other hand, I skim through old memories wondering why I let them sit there for so long, wondering if it is time to let them go to where no one else can see them because I know for sure that if I tap ‘delete’ on screen, I’ve done the same to the rest of my remembering.
Or maybe not. I had read somewhere recently that nothing is ever forgotten, only the skill required to resurface any given memory becomes less capable. And if every other thought is stored in the mind by way of connection with something that had come before it, can anything be ever inaccessible for long?
That is one probable reason as to why I am now looking back if only for the sake of freeing up my synapses for more recent ideas.
I went through a folder of last year’s photographs, and back to re-discovering the beauty of photo editing. I opened the software not for the sake of making art out of these some-hundred megabyte of some-day ago, but just to get them out. Somewhere should be better than nowhere forever. Yet not even five photos later did I understand the reminder of why I used to spend more than enough hours staring into the grey-black screen on a monitor much smaller than what I have now.
Nature is forgiving in that way. That no matter how many times or how long I’ve turned my back on it, I can still return as if nothing much had happened, just the normal-flow-of-life kind of changes. I had shut my eyes on colours for the efficiency of black-and-white for years and when I look at the red-to-green gradient of the stacked leaves at the left side of the photograph above, I feel like I’ve been born again and this is who I’d be forever.
Nature is forgiving in another way: how chaos is neither a hindrance nor a prerequisite to beauty; how nature, regardless of how they are, is perfect, is beautiful. It is beauty that hurts the eyes that wants to keep looking; it is perfect that warms the soul as it keeps it unsteadily in mystery.
Sometime last year I saw the sacred in the mundane profanity of an unsettled garden in the middle of the city of Nowhere.
Perhaps sometimes it is better to wait for sometime later to do something that can be done today. Maybe when tomorrow arrives, it leaves the later in the yesterday and such is one less problem to whoever was supposed to solve it.
It is possible, too, that no such problem truly exists and only time can say so.