“You are beautiful when you smile,” I admit, “It is as if you were enchanted as if you were different from the moment you came.”
“Perhaps it is so,” you say softly, “when it was strangely curious, then it was confusingly strange and then only more invitingly strange. But what are we going to do now, where I’ve been living? “
“What do you want to do?” I ask in return.
“Something, just do …”, you answer spontaneously.
“Something for us to do something without paying attention to what we want,” I say.
We are accustomed to doing something, so that the day, the hour, or just the moment, has its justification. We are accustomed to being able to sit back in the evening, with the good feeling that we have done something. No matter what, the main thing was done. But when did we last do something, not because we were trying to do something, not because it had to be done, just because we wanted it? Or more importantly, when did we manage to do nothing for the last time, because we did not want to do anything at the moment because we just had a moment where it was possible? Of course, I do not want to deny it, there are enough things to be done for whatever reason, but there are a lot more of the things that are not really necessary, and we do it anyway. It’s just not going to do anything. And I do not mean to passively pass through some media, not even to read a book, but to look into the clouds, to give space to thought, and perhaps not even to refuel, to be quiet, to listen slowly, too. And not to have understood even before the other has even uttered the half sentence, simply nothing to make the moment work, or if not nothing, then at least hear in yourself first, and then do what you really do. It is pleasure to do what is good, beyond all necessity, and then it will be that the doing is opened up in doing, that we are moving closer to life, in a breathing rhythm, and not in the ticking of the clock, but in the beat the heart, to the beat of the breath.
“Why do not we want to do something we want to do, and not just something?” I ask.
“But what do I want?”, you replied, obviously confused about this request.
“Listen to yourself, look around, and you will know,” I say with conviction, and you take it seriously, and I feel your tact.
“I would love to walk across the meadow and wade through the brook, feel barefoot and nature,” you finally answer, and it sounds real, after what you want without affecting usability or meaning.
“Dare, slowly,” I said softly.
“And also feeling, getting involved, has something new, is strange, but attractively strange,” you replied, and now it is you who takes my hand and takes me with you.