An oft-travelled journey home when, suddenly, I become transfixed by the clouds in the sky. Grey and navy with astonishing splashes of light and beige. An unexpected chink of blue reminds me of tomorrow and Mediterranean summers.
There are mountain ranges and snowy landscapes and sumptuous treats in these clouds. Ever changing and concealing and revealing. A thoughtful water-colour painting. A masterpiece of such genius that many do not even recognise it.
Perfect contrasts of heaviness and light, charcoals and pastels, passion and anger. Dramatic brushstrokes and cotton puffs so soft I want to bury my face in them. The impermanence delights me. Now, slowly, the clouds part and the window of promising blue stretches, making the clear sky more precious for it is not always so.
“Our true nature could be compared to the sky, and the confusion of the ordinary mind to clouds. Some days, the sky is completely obscured by clouds. When we are down on the ground, looking up, it is very difficult to believe there is anything else there but clouds. Yet we only have to fly in a plane to discover up above a limitless expanse of clear blue sky. From up there, the clouds we assumed were everything seem so small and so far away down below. We should always try and remember: the clouds are not the sky, and do not “belong” to it. They only hang there and pass by in their slightly ridiculous and non-dependent fashion. And they can never stain or mark the sky in any way.” Sogyal Rinpoche