It’s Sunday morning. Finally, it’s Sunday morning. Although, I get real bad Monday-morning-fevers, but this is not what I want to think about right now. All I know is -it’s Sunday morning.
As I open my eyes, I gather it must be 8 or 9 am. Without getting up, I think about all the things that I have put off for this day, so yes, I have things to do. A lot of things to do. But, they can wait. As I lay on my back, emptying my mind of all thoughts that can possibly penetrate and filling it with absolutely nothing, I stare at the ceiling. From the window, I see a tree. Leaves, with one side green and the other side yellow. As I’m still lying on my back, I focus on my breathing. There it is. One breath in, and then out. Another breath in and there. it goes out as well.
In that moment, there is no beauty, no philosophy, no poetry but, tranquility. Tranquility, that only lazy people afford. Laziness, that only the rich afford. Rich, who is content. Rich, who does not fancy that he needs anything more than he actually needs. I’m poor.