Tuesday, September 19, 2006

JOURNAL: September 19, 2006

Yesterday everything seemed especially peaceful, almost as though life was quietly poised in a state of complete perfection. I don’t mean that everything happened exactly the way I wanted it to happen – just that whatever happened, whatever I heard or saw, whatever I felt or thought, seemed to be correct and good. The universe seemed to be very satisfied with itself yesterday. The billions and trillions of years of existence had rolled round to yesterday and produced a day that could be nothing else but what it was. I saw this most especially in the look and feel of the air outside. Partly because of the constant, undisturbed music of the September insects, there was a sense of peace in the air. It was as if an orchestra was playing one of Debussy’s softest melodies, right outside my classroom or wherever I happened to be. Whatever concerns or worries I had disappeared as soon as I turned my attention to the serenade of the insects. But it was more than just the softness in the air that made the day seemed so flawless. Somehow, all things seemed to be working together for good throughout the day. Every word I spoke to my students seemed to be the right one for that moment, and every word they spoke to me seemed full of a top secret kind of wisdom. Even commonplace things appeared to carry great significance – a falling leaf, a scrap of paper by the side of the road, a book left behind on my table by a student. An unspoiled light was shining from everything, and I was lucky to be there, yesterday, to see it.

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