A snow-capped summit that evades you. You are filled with fear of the distance, of the journey that is unknown. Sounds that you’ve never heard conjure and hijack your senses packing your ambitions behind fear.

One day you wake up remembering why you dreamt at all. The morning motivation coupled with no external stimuli of the external world fills you with that lost ambition again. The world is asleep, so you are thinking by yourself. You are thinking of yourself, free from all the judgement by others. You visualise.

An impulsive decision helps you. The routine of the mental block is broken by this break in the system. Impulses are contagious to success. So you finally take one step further to your goal. Doubts and self-hate prey over you like eagles expecting you to turn weak again because that’s your pattern. But you don’t.

Finally, it comes true. I sit here amongst the mountains with a sweet sounding voice of Norah Jones accompanied by the soothing piano as my background. I feel nearer to the optimum version of me which is constantly changing. I accept this reality. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. I’m at the place where the air smells of home even though it’s the first time I breathe its air.

With Tibetan culture surrounding me and books waiting to be opened by my tender hands, my distracted mind tries to focus on the now instead of the unknown future or the past that has become unknown to me. The wish to slow down emerges as an underlying feeling I choose not to prod. It feels like a place where I can finally take the time to understand myself rather than rushing what is merely my impressions about myself.

People enter this place wearing the same thoughts as mine when I entered this place 10 minutes ago. Or that’s what I like to believe. To believe that this environment is healing. The mountains are there to remind me of the potential of grandness. And the snow-capped mountain caressing my wounds of yesterday.

I don’t know what struggle looks like yet I make it seem like a struggle. Negativity doesn’t blow in the wind here, joy does. Content and carefree, I focus on the words of the song being played rather than my own. They reflect like poetry.

I’m dreamin’ again
Like I’ve always been
And way down low
I’m thinkin’ of the prettiest thing
– Norah Jones


For more content:

Poetry – [145] A Visitor In Your Park
Write- Up – [129] Mind As Summer

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