How can you describe an emotion? Words, poetry, music...Art can express an emotion, but it cannot describe one. Emotions are light, transient--they are not meant to be pinned down, fastened by mere words to something concrete. The sense of peace that comes from walking in the sunlight on a beautiful day cannot be caught down and trapped. The mere attempt drives the feeling away. Emotions can be felt, cherished, even despised--but they must remain free. You cannot call an emotion; it must be free to float away: it will return if and when it is ready to return to you. You can only hope to be ready when it comes. Feel it, but be ready to let it go. Let it be, and simply feel it.

i feel the summer heat rising to meet me from the sidewalk beneath my feet. There are people; there is a park. In the park, there is a pond. i stroll beside the water--that is, i try to stroll. But i am so used to striding quickly and purposefully through life that i find myself almost power-walking, despite my conscious efforts to stroll. The water in the pond is dirty, polluted, with food wrappers and dead bugs floating on the surface. But i choose not to see what i do not wish to see; i let my eyes go a little out of focus and see only lovely, clear, slightly rippled water that looks almost good enough to drink. But i will not, of course, drink it, for the same reason that i never wish on the first star i see at night--if the water were undrinkable, if the wish were not realized, it would ruin my illusion and destroy the myth that just might be true.

i choose to see beauty, and so i do see beauty. i wonder, briefly, what others see. Do they, like me, choose not to see the ugliness? Do they see--or even search for--the dirt in the water? Do they know that i am choosing not to see them? If they do see me, and know my choices, do they care? Perhaps they choose not to see me at all...And if they do, should i care? As long as i see the beauty i have found, i am content. My life is the richer for having found this beauty, even in a place where others see ugliness.

Am i walking through life with blinders? There is enough pain and ugliness that i see--that i somehow have to choose to see--that i feel justified in choosing not to see a few specks of dirt in a pond. i have worked hard enough, and come far enough, that i think i am entitled to a few moments of tunnel vision. The sunlight is streaming through the trees, touching the water. The breeze stops momentarily, and the water is still for an instant. And in that instant, i look in the water, and my reflection is there. i see myself...And in this moment, i choose to see.