So often, the mud is so thick we stare only at our toes, to keep them one ahead of the other, and some journeys, the road is so windy and topsy turvy that we look only at that yellow line ahead of us to keep our stomachs right side up. Somedays, we sleep in the trenches of adventure, knowing somewhere is something spectacular but that today all we know is ordinary.
And then, so often, when we least expect it and so are most prepared for it, we look up from our toes and turn our heads from the yellow line to see something other than the trees and the mud and the beds made in trenches. And, in those moments, when our souls are so filled with the taste of a satisfied longing we were unaware of having, it seems like it doesn’t matter if we drop dead right there and then, because we know that if we live a thousand years we will never see anything more breathtaking than what we absorb like rain in that very moment.
Those views- be them mountains or lovers or togetherness or an ocean- they are remedies and epiphanies to awake our sleeping souls; to make us wonder why we ever questioned the journey would be worth it. And to stop, and notice, to let the balms of wonder and appreciation soothe our aching hearts, oh, isn’t this to live? And there in those moments- those heart stopping, mouth watering, forget to breathe moments, we become not only ourselves but ourselves with a purpose. In those moments, we are beholders of beauty.