where thoughts sink

In nature, you can check how far you are from the Divine order of the world. It never changes direction, compromises or negotiates. She does not lack the courage to be what she is. In nature, you can check how far you are from the Divine order of the world. It never changes direction, compromises or negotiates. She does not lack the courage to be who she is.
When I get particularly sick of this whole world, although this is not a completely accurate expression, because that world and I are an inseparable thing. I remember that very close to the concrete boxes where I spend most of my life is nature. Then I take water, tobacco and go to the side where the lake and the forest are. Two angels who always teach seriousness and peace on the side.

My black friend Henrikas, a tailless individualist of the Schnauzer breed, often goes with me. I don't know how intelligent he is, but I am convinced many times that he is a creature of a sensitive and deep soul.

On my way to the place where I usually find peace with myself again, I have to pass the panorama of the lake. It is most beautiful when there is a little fog left around. The lines soften and the images slowly disappear into the white milk. Reminds me of poetry, reminds me of a cozy dream. I often stop to admire. In my city, there are not many such places where the gaze can gaze into the distance. In front of a large space without oxygen, you begin to breathe something else, often overlooked because it is so subtle that our minds are too crude to notice it.

Then I go on, turning around to check whether the landscape around me has not acquired any previously unnoticed details or unexpected overlaps with grass, trees, benches, people. Maybe another puff of fog came down from somewhere and set the main focus. Specially for me.

Then I leave the paved path, cross diagonally and land in the woods. There is always another carpet, or leaves, or grass, or snow, or black earth. I am immediately calmer, but before that I think about what I will bring on the soles of my shoes when I return home. Will you need to wash a lot? I nod at that thought and continue my journey. Through a tunnel of tall grass and bushes. Towards your favorite place.

I am greeted by the first inhabitants of the forest who have chosen to reach the sky as the goal of life. They never reach it, but they grow much taller than humans. It is true that we can climb into them or cut them down and see what they have grown there.

It took me a long time to get a feel for the forest. For someone who grew up in a city, in a concrete house, in a rectangular enclosure divided into two residential parts in five, the place of peace and concentration usually becomes the toilet and bathroom. It is there that you get to know the hair that has started to grow on your chest and face. With the unrelenting thoughts of doing something with the girls in the class, and trying to control what is seen in the mirror, the regular explosions that are happening inside.

I was afraid of the forest. It lacked the usual comforts for me. It was full of blood-sucking mosquitoes, lurking ticks, and full of vague snares, which multiplied especially when it got dark. Each such snort was like a blue spark of electricity, drawing a different ghost in his mind. But thank God. That's how it happened. That we started riding around that forest with such big, fun unicycles, we rode so much and so often that that forest became my own. I grew up in a city, without a lake and without a forest, and only when I approached my middle age did I discover both a lake and a forest.

Now I am heading towards my favorite place and everything is close to me here. Sometimes when the wind blows or the spirit of the forest stirs, something pops out of the trees as if welcoming me. That feeling of closeness rises inside like pollen. This is how we say hello.

Sometimes the leaves fall off. One in autumn, another in summer. It's either snow, or it's covered with raindrops in the leaves. Sometimes he sends some kind of bird. Even a squirrel has appeared several times. And the deer! Princesses of our little forest, graduates of the forest ballet school. I always freeze, I want to look at them so much, to admire their extraordinary grace. As young noble ladies, they fled from their palaces to surrender to the wild forest. Because there is too little space in the palace. As they ran, their puffy dresses were buttoned up and their high hairstyles were arranged by the branches of the trees.

This time I am greeted by wet, bright yellow leaves reminiscent of autumn. In the past, I always associated autumn with the color gray and dirty shoes. Now I am constantly amazed by the intensity of the shades created by the light that penetrates the canvas of the gray sky. The resulting eye-popping contrasts.
Looking at the sky, I remember the sea. She is so big and her spirit is big. And you can drown in it. And a person can be big, really as big as the sea, but often he is scared of his own size and lives huddled.

Well here it is. I gave up on walking. I'm just going. The trees and moss don't need anything from me and I don't need anything from them either, we enjoy being together. I can walk, and the moss can weave its living carpet unhindered. I start to hear birds chirping. Of course, they were chirping all the time, but now everyone seems to be chirping something to me personally. Wouldn't want me to miss and I don't want to miss.

That's when you feel like you've come home. That a very big, the biggest part of you longs for the scents, colors, forces that prevail in this place, that fresh silence where absolutely all thoughts melt away. The light ones dissolve immediately, and the heavy ones sink, slowly drift away, sink until they disappear into the abyss of eternity.

I approach my forest plot. Something keeps changing in it, I'm not the only one using the spells of this place. Something is going on here. The fireplace is arranged. Maybe the local players sit here at night and exorcise the devils like me. Only they at night and me during the day. This whole place is protected by tall fir trees. I noticed a scar in one. A broken branch, or maybe someone played with an ax. I tried to heal with the energy coming from my hands. I have heard that there is an energy coming from all of us. Be that as it may, it is difficult to wash off both hands and clothes afterwards.

I sit down on my rast. Henrik also sits down, he seems to understand that now everything will be serious. I smell the sharp taboka, I look at how the moss climbs the tree trunks and I thank: God, father, mother, children, all the people with whom our lives are closely intertwined and any hesitation feels as if we are stuck by skin. To everyone who hurt me, who made me sour, like vitamins. For all who are free souls. To all who still love me.

And that I love…