Breath in. 5…4…3…2…one I saw a nix sitting on a branch of a fig tree, dipping her toes into the stream of water below her. creating ripples that waned and faded. She looked sad on this beautiful Armenian night, perhaps it was the shadow she carried that whispered chaos in her mind.
Breath out. 1…2..3.4 five, every living creature has a mind, and is therefore equally important. The Owl on the spitz of the old fig was not more relevant than the Nix, and my life is worth the same as hers. I wondered if she could have been sad because the presence of the moon on this night was divine and she wished she could bottle up the milky way and the falling stars, or she wasn’t mindful enough to realise she was more than the feelings she allowed to overwhelm her thoughts;
the state if mind where she wanted the night to schatter into broken shards, prick her skin so she could feel her life force… or anything really. swallow her whole and drop her off the face of the earth.
She couldn’t speak stillness to the old fig, or reach out to touch the elusive moon. The lines between her reality and her reflection were blurred by a spurring internal conflict that could be solved by a drop of presence.
On this beautiful Armenian night I crouched next to her and told her to live in the moment, exactly how it was, listening to her heart beat, not wanting more or expecting less. Every day nature weaves a balance of subtle miracles before our ever dreaming eyes. If we’re lucky, our hearts can capture every butterfly smile our irises have yet to see.