The whole world seems brand new. Everything in it seems fresh and untouched. It moves in ways not remembered. A quick view of the hills is breathless with wonder. Songs, old friends but new, again, dancing with all imaginable feelings. And descriptive, beautiful, wonderful, joyous words flit just below the surface. Is this what it is to be alive, to see the world again after so long below?
There is no boundary, no rules that say this is true, that this thing isn’t all in the mind. All in the eye of the beholder. And the existence of most, if not all. Own realities that gift uniquely. How can this be said to be true, real and happening? What is it to be most alive? What is existence but this?
What is this newfound insight, this joy that pervades even the darker moments? Glimmers. Glimmers of what is, was and has always been. Shrouded, though it was, for a time. Life is meant to be lived, loved and beautiful. Even the nasty bits, though, those, maybe, only later.
Glimmers of hope, of a better world, people, and words with which to describe the achingly wondrous, esoteric and ethereal things.
Finding them isn’t the trick, it’s believing that they exist, wholly real and tangible.
And today I’m finding that I can begin to believe that they are real. I’m not sure what I can attest them to, all I know is that increasingly I have these descriptive, beautiful, wonderful, joyous words welling out of my inner self. A place that I’ve long forgotten how to find that has somehow found its way to me.
—A Recovering Design Imposter