Do you know this feeling? A song, a photo, a gift, a flower, the look in someone’s eyes, a smell, the shape of a cloud or a sunset, whatever it is, you name it, it’s a small thing and it will touch a part deep inside of you that will make you smile, will make you love life, will incite a burning sensation somewhere close to your heart and the ends of your hair will tingle.
Have you ever felt like that? Have you ever been touched by one of those sparks? This feeling is almost impossible to describe. It’s a little bit like falling in love, or figuring out that you’ve fallen in love. It’s what you feel when you watch a sunset or look up into the wide open, deep blue sky.
At least, I do.
The look on someone’s face can do that to me. Words definitely do, not all of them, but if they’ve been beautifully composed to touch this well within me, regardless if the author meant to reach there or not, I will feel like that.
A photo can do that too and the subject or object of it doesn’t particularly matter. Remembering the smell of Grace’s fur on her head, right behind her ears where it was softest, fills me up with this feeling from top to bottom. It goes deeper than joy. Yet, there’s also a little bit of sadness in the mix.
I suppose, many things can be beautiful or perceived as beautiful, it does lie in the eye of the beholder, after all. And whichever part inside of you is struck by something truly beautiful, is the part that will feel this joy and maybe a little sadness, because of the knowledge that it is fleeting.
I read a quote today that I’ve not known before. It’s from a famous turn of the century (19th that is) writer. I won’t give you his name or the quote, because I need to keep it to myself for a very specific purpose.
I read it and thought: Yes! Yes! This is it! Precisely. It’s what I’ve been looking for without knowing that I’ve been looking for it. It is exactly what I needed. A bright light suddenly shining in the darkness. A spark.
It must strike some of you as very strange that words can do this to me. Give you this warm glowing feeling in your chest and make you feel as if at least a part of you can fly, the part that is eternal and invincible, all-knowing and all-seeing.
Try looking up into the sky and let yourself fall into it. That’s it, right there. You got it.
I think I live for those sparks, which manage to kindle this flame that I carry inside of me at all times. It’s burning all the time, but mostly it’s rather subdued, barely there and hardly warming.
It can’t and it shouldn’t burn brightly and powerfully, because it would be all consuming. As long as I manage to find a spark here and there to feed it and realize that I am indeed alive in a world full of wonder, I am okay with that.
I might be lucky (as indeed I am), because I seem to find one of those sparks almost every day. It’s a good thing they come in so many shapes.
In my last blog entry I went on a rant on responsibility or the lack thereof. And now I am writing about the polar opposite. I’m a complicated woman and if ever you find me boring, do tell me so I can unfriend you.
Life is complicated. It’s full of people ignoring responsibility. It’s also full of wonder. You can catch ideas, if they let you, find a spark of something beautiful here and there, curse someone’s idiocy and wonder how they even made it to adulthood, be brought to tears by the wonderful finale of your favourite TV show, read a great book in one sitting or throw a terrible one out the window.
In one day you can get a hug from a friend, say goodbye to your brother, send a text to your mother, have strangers invade your personal space, argue with your boss, ignore a phone call from an ex and meet the love of your life.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Don’t forget to smile at those little things, the little sparks that burn brightly and vanish again, but may come around another time just to remind you that you are alive.