It always feels good to come back here...

It always feels good to come back here. To return to the place where my heart sings and my soul reads poetry. Where I step onto an invisible stage and play the most meaningful role of my creative life. Here, my world splits me in two and drowns me in the echoes of its own colors.

I touch the cold stone. The pines, whispering their melody in the sunlight, brush my head with their shadows, while the chill of the rock seeps into my body like streams of energy. The oasis of calm and that sacred silence wrap around me like my grandmother’s old shawl.

I sit on the cold stone. Silent. Eyes closed, I drink in the poem of nature—a hymn to a sanctuary that feels like both a gift from God and a temptation of the devil. Because once you step inside, you begin to wander its underground labyrinths, unable to find your way back to the perilous world of people. You become part of that sanctuary, losing a part of yourself, surrendering your being, and sinking into its mystery as if into a bed of down. In losing yourself, you become its captive—entranced, enchanted, surrendering willingly to its pull. And there, within that surrender, you discover a new world inside yourself—calm, luminous, achingly quiet. No noise, no voices, no laughter, no tears. Only a faint, wandering note drifting through the darkness.

Close those doors, for that silence and stillness are what I’ve been searching for—what I lost in the rush of morning, in the noise of work, in the clamor of evening. I found it here, touching the cold stone beneath the pines. I hold it in my palm and won’t let go, because I know that once I lose it again, I’ll spend a long time searching… and I don’t know if I’ll ever find it once more.