view

 

It was almost sunset when I arrived at the place where I would have dinner. With the last light of day, I wandered the small grounds, snapping photos of the flowers and greenery. Yet, what truly caught my eye was the restaurant's water feature—a still pond bordered by a simple bamboo bridge.

Crossing the bridge, I gazed beyond the waters to a field, its greens dulled in the fading light but still shimmering with life, even as shadows crept in.

The water lay utterly still, silent and almost eerie. Not a bird or insect disturbed its surface. In that quiet moment, the pond seemed to transcend reality—a basin of peace, contentment, and divine stillness, waiting for nightfall.

Like that water, I am always in motion, chasing tasks until I am spent before the evening. My body cries for rest, and I often surrender to a short nap, lying motionless on the floor. In those moments, I am the water in that pond—still, silent, waiting.

Someday, I know, true stillness will come. Weary in both body and spirit, I hope to find myself in the presence of the Lord—a place of majesty, free from longing and sadness, where joy and reunion await.