If one were to stand in the middle of the side of the sidewalk, while listening to music seeping through the walls of a high school, that would make no sense to observers. Yet, if one were to smoke a cigarette, while idling and listening, that would make sense.

If one were to look at the clothes of others, while they drifted in the breeze on a clothesline, that would make no sense to some. The clothes are colorful, varied, intimate and hint at the life inside: within lives a man and woman; there’s no child; they wash clothes often or they have few clothes, because so few pieces are on the line; the woman is petite; the man has a simple job that requires brown pants. A simple line, a simple life.

If one were to ponder the fairness of things, that would make no sense. Why was Walter Scott shot in the back eight times? Why would there be a campaign to raise money for the man who shot him? Who was wronged? Why do people starve to death everyday in a world of plenty? Why do we voraciously read horrific news everyday and dismiss goodness?

Some say, “The world’s a terrible place.”  That makes no sense. Wonderful people do small and grandiose acts of kindness everyday with no recognition. Videos of us helping and loving each other rarely go viral.

If one were to criticize you everyday, and the loudest in the pack were you, that would make no sense. “You’re old, you’re fat, you’re skinny, you’re too dark, you’re too pale, your hair’s too coarse, your hair’s too fine, you’re weak, you’re too short, you’re too tall. ” Stop the nonsense. You’re nothing but beautiful. (Ask yourself, “How could I have failed to recognize the wonder of me?”)

If one were to fail to recognize the excellence of this day, that would make no sense. A breath ago, someone lost this: the smell of orange and jasmine, the pulsating sun, the falling of the last cherry blossom for this season, the tenderness of a hand on a shoulder, the satisfaction of a meal, the smile of a stranger, the sounds of glee from the depths of a child, a song bleeding in the air. All happening without rhyme or “sense.” It makes no sense that sensitivity makes no sense to so many.

With the realization that the “me” that was the time considering itself a separate entity is only a dreamed character, a manifestation of Consciousness, the mind turns away from objects and gets focused on the “I AM.” That is the true vision of Reality.Sri Ramana Maharshi


Roberto and Fernando

Roberto and Fernando

at Rendezvous Vintage

at RendezVous Vintage– Rua Sao de Vicente, no.16