Yearning

How exactly does yearning work? Do we see something and wish to be there, or do we wish to be somewhere and just happen to have that image pop up in front of us? In this particular instance, for me it was both. Over the last few days, my mind has been crying out for some respite, for some release, for some Far-From-The-Madding-Crowd if you will (a bit ironical in these times of social distancing). Quite possibly I've been seeking an escape from myself. I haven’t really had a picture in mind of the place I’d like to lose myself in, even if it is but introspectively. And then today, when I was feeling more fatigued mentally than I have ever felt in recent years, this bewitching photograph jumped out at me on a social media platform. And I looked, and looked. And looked some more. Then, I closed my eyes. And I listened. To the sound of the water, the sound of the oars, the sound of feet splasing, the sound of birds on their way home. The sounds of dusk, the sense of a hiatus. A much yearned after discontinuity. And, for a moment, I was there.

For a moment, the universe was submerged in a chasm of repose, and I, a wondrous nonentity, was seeing with my mind and hearing with my heart.