When I leave the house, my eyes always turn to the south, which from my bal­cony seems to me to be the north. In spring, the light wel­comes me. The long morn­ing shad­ows seem both frozen and serene, one would not know what to think.

In real­i­ty, there is no rea­son to think. Mind­ful­ness thinkers like to use the word ullasa, which they trans­late as a con­tent­ment of beau­ty. Accord­ing to a San­skrit dic­tio­nary, this would prob­a­bly sim­ply mean light.

We like to inflate the mean­ing of words among hap­pi­ness enthu­si­asts. How­ev­er, I agree with the joy that light gives me in the morn­ing. It seems to me to be part of a sin­gle cer­tain­ty, almost a dogma.

The evening light is the same, like an iden­ti­cal reverse side of a medal with kalei­do­scop­ic edges. I will nev­er under­stand exis­tence, I will nev­er see its end because at the end I will prob­a­bly already be blind.

So I have morn­ings and evenings left to remind myself of the impor­tance of being who I am.