A MOMENT OF STILLNESS
I stood outside on the balcony trying to beat the claustrophobic indoors and as the first signs of light appeared uncovering the drenched roads from the overnight rain, drowsiness crept in and I made my way back inside, to my bed. As had happened many times before, I went to sleep and to a world of my own and to my dreams. I woke up three hours later, still drowsy. I had my morning coffee and wrote ‘Stillness’. That was fourteen years ago. I remembered the previous evening when on my evening walk along the seashore there was a moment when I felt the Stillness. I explored all those moments which stood frozen in time, those moments of joy, ecstasy, of alienation a snapshot of all those pictures. Years have passed and I still seek the stillness as an extension of ‘Moments of Happiness’. When will these moments ever last? Is it when I find the silence in my heart, and in the stillness of my mind? In fleeting, unguarded moments, it has come like a gentle presence that simply is.
I have felt it while sitting in silence, gazing across distant mountains, my eyes resting on their quiet grandeur. There was no thought, no attempt to grasp or understand—only a still, wordless amazement. The mountains did not speak, yet they seemed to hold within them an ancient, unmoving truth. In their presence, something within me softened and grew quiet, as though I too belonged to that vast stillness.
It returned to me once again by the seashore. The waves, which usually move with a ceaseless rhythm, seemed to hesitate—as if they had forgotten their endless dance. The wind stilled, the horizon blurred into a seamless expanse, and for a brief moment, everything rested in an unfamiliar calm. There was no separation between the observer and the observed—only a single, undivided presence.
On another day, while walking alone in the rain, I sensed it yet again. The droplets fell softly, yet it seemed as though they paused mid-air, suspended between sky and earth. The sea grew silent, the world hushed itself, and within that strange and delicate suspension, I too became still. It was not an effort; it was not a state I entered—it was simply what remained when all movement, inner and outer, came to rest.
As the sun set and darkness slowly descended, the world appeared to withdraw into itself. The colors faded, sounds softened, and life seemed to retreat into a deeper quiet. A bird, perched upon a tree, ceased its song—not abruptly, but as though it had gently dissolved into silence. That silence was not empty; it was full, rich, and alive—a presence that spread quietly through everything, touching all without distinction.
There have been other moments—moments that stand in stark contrast to this stillness. Amidst the restless movement and noise of crowds, I sometimes find myself strangely alone, inwardly untouched by the chaos around me. There is a stillness there too, but it is fragile, fleeting. For as the world resumes its rhythm, as voices rise and footsteps quicken, I feel myself drawn back into the current—carried along almost against my will, as though I had never truly left.
And then, there were those rare and tender instants so subtle that they can easily be missed. When I looked through her eyes and sensed a depth of unspoken feeling, a quiet tenderness that asked for nothing and yet revealed everything. In those moments, something within me had stirred, not with restlessness, but with a gentle ache, as though touching something infinitely precious and infinitely fragile.
It is in those instants that a question arises—not from the mind, but from somewhere deeper: can time not pause here, if only for a while? Can this moment not linger, untouched by the passing of seconds? But even as the question forms, I know the answer. Stillness cannot be held, cannot be preserved or prolonged. It comes and goes as it wills, like a whisper in the vastness of existence. Stillness is not something to be found or kept—it is something to be recognized. It is always here, beneath the surface of all movement, quietly waiting—not to be attained, but to be seen.
