a time of peace and stillness in which to think
"And for me?" Jessica asked.
"Is there something you wish?"
"Perhaps Caladan," she said, looking at Gurney. "I'm not certain... I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think."
"That you shall have," Paul said, "and anything else that Gurney or I can give you."
--from Dune, by Frank Herbert.
It's snowing here, and as a result everything I can see outside my window is touched with white. In some places the snow is thick enough to cover things in depth, such as the once-green bushes, the ground in front of my apartment, and the railing outside my window. In others it looks more like a layer of powdered sugar that's been sifted over things, whether it be against the bark of tree trunks or along the cast-iron framework of the lanterns on the deck. There are even icicles along a nearby overhang, and the snow has dusted them too, turning clear ice into sharp frosted points.
The weather's not bad enough to keep me from venturing outside or even driving, but as it turns out I didn't go in to the cathedral this morning anyway. Oh, not out of discontent or anything like that-- it's just that sometimes when everything seems to race along at high speed, it's easy to get so caught up in all the things that are going on and which need doing that it becomes difficult to perceive the experience of life as a whole. I think of it as "can't-see-the-forest-for-the-trees" syndrome on a broader scale, and when I notice it happening to me, I try to take a deliberate step back and find that breathing space-- that "time of peace and stillness" that's referred to in today's subject line.
Right now I'm writing this while sitting at the desk in my room, the one that's in front of the window which looks out toward the west. I've got a cup of slowly-cooling peppermint tea at hand, along with a sausage biscuit on a plate, and there's a purring cat nearby, curled up asleep on my bed. Once I finish this entry, I'll probably settle into working on the projects I have lined up for today, but at the moment it's nice just to quietly observe the world and myself in relationship to it.
"Is there something you wish?"
"Perhaps Caladan," she said, looking at Gurney. "I'm not certain... I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think."
"That you shall have," Paul said, "and anything else that Gurney or I can give you."
--from Dune, by Frank Herbert.
It's snowing here, and as a result everything I can see outside my window is touched with white. In some places the snow is thick enough to cover things in depth, such as the once-green bushes, the ground in front of my apartment, and the railing outside my window. In others it looks more like a layer of powdered sugar that's been sifted over things, whether it be against the bark of tree trunks or along the cast-iron framework of the lanterns on the deck. There are even icicles along a nearby overhang, and the snow has dusted them too, turning clear ice into sharp frosted points.
The weather's not bad enough to keep me from venturing outside or even driving, but as it turns out I didn't go in to the cathedral this morning anyway. Oh, not out of discontent or anything like that-- it's just that sometimes when everything seems to race along at high speed, it's easy to get so caught up in all the things that are going on and which need doing that it becomes difficult to perceive the experience of life as a whole. I think of it as "can't-see-the-forest-for-the-trees" syndrome on a broader scale, and when I notice it happening to me, I try to take a deliberate step back and find that breathing space-- that "time of peace and stillness" that's referred to in today's subject line.
Right now I'm writing this while sitting at the desk in my room, the one that's in front of the window which looks out toward the west. I've got a cup of slowly-cooling peppermint tea at hand, along with a sausage biscuit on a plate, and there's a purring cat nearby, curled up asleep on my bed. Once I finish this entry, I'll probably settle into working on the projects I have lined up for today, but at the moment it's nice just to quietly observe the world and myself in relationship to it.