Outside the large window, on my right side, stands my world— exposed as it is not only to my vision, but onto my soul as well; which seems to have succumbed to the same tranquility carried on by the morning outside; wet as it is, and swathed in the first fog of the season.
And what a fascinating world this is—a world of ghostly figures and ethereal forms and mysterious shapes thinned by fog; diluting in the bleak miasma outside, from where they seem to coexist so peacefully; beckoning me across my window to a far more irresistibly and wonderfully world of mysteries.
As I gaze at what transpires outside, a wistful feeling takes possession. From the fog, shapes and outlines starts to materialize. Trees and rooftops, the obscure façade of the old stone church—all surface mysteriously and slowly come into sight, as if they had never been there before and only now decided to appear, being summoned by the whim of some great magician.
How wonderful these autumnal mornings are; so rich with whimsy and daydreams. And now, our little world has turned crimson and mellow and wintry nights have brought up the warm fleece covers and woolly quilts and cozy comforters out of the closets.
Nights are stretching. Somnolent mornings are lingering in their slumber and it feels as if the sun would never rise again. It is difficult to relinquish the comforts and reassurance of the cozy nest and have to head into the glooms outside each morning. Ah how I wish I could enjoy the warmth of my bed a little longer; my home and the peaceful feeling which it seems to be swathed in, by turning my back on duties.
I should reflect that staying in bed longer would avert me from witnessing the wonderments of life as it rouses to the mysteries and stupors of a new morning. I should consider myself blessed for having a job to go to each day. But could there be something more absolutely restorative for the soul than the attainment of our heart’s desires?—I wonder. What encourages us to deny our reality, submit cheerfully to unwonted duties and follow the path that has been pointed out… by life, by fate, by whatever?
Life is a vicious circle indeed. There’s no such thing as a freedom cycle. Abundance, prosperity, joy, and health are always threatened by struggle and survival. The positive; the negative—complimenting each other. No way out I see, other than to put our faith and hope in God’s promises.