A few days ago a friend of mine sent me a flower with a quote by Oscar Wilde:

"I love small pleasures.
They are the last refuge of confused souls...".

Small pleasures are the moments that make life meaningful. It is like putting a tiny comma, or semicolon, in the middle of an exhausting life. Small joys are good for preventing and resolving big earthquakes, big energy jams. A small break prevents big endings, even big craziness. Sometimes one wants to jump out of the wheels of the system, if it doesn't allow small pleasures. When we forget that we are only human, that we are only flesh and bones, it is enough to walk through the garden of a cemetery to realize that life is not so eternal after all. There are celebrities, the rich, the famous, the supposedly indispensable. When people die, even their loved ones can only go as far as the door of the grave, no one can go beyond. It is even their closest and dearest ones who throw the first earth on them.

As a complex soul, battered and battered between all the teeth of materialism and capitalism, I sometimes wonder if I too, like Alexander the Great in a life where I have no room for small pleasures, should reach for greater pleasures before hanging my empty right hand out of the coffin. Even if I stripped away from everything, assumed another identity, and with a motion as disgusting and non-radical as Kafka's transformation, perhaps I would find myself in Burma discovering the meaning of life that I can't figure out, or in Cambodia buried in a deep silence while eel hunting, in Jamaica at the top of a waterfall in the middle of a cinnamon forest, in the adrenaline-fueled nothingness of rafting. Or playing bouzouki and sirtaki on a Greek island.

We, the most sacred beings of existence, in our complex souls, in our complex feelings, in the melancholy of our being thrown against huge walls, in the pale timidity of our dull expressions that stick to our faces, as if we have never carried our own bodies, deepen our great loneliness with the distances we consciously put, and wake up cold with our own icy voice from our mostly unaware daily life.

We are alienated from ourselves as we are alienated from everything. Far from the sanctity of existence, timid of our spirituality and our own light, in the loneliness of being settled in distant countries, we should experience the small pleasure of discovering ourselves, even with a break as short as looking in a mirror.

Have you ever taken a long look in the mirror? When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Now stand in front of a mirror and take a long look into the eyes of the person in the mirror. Look deeply into the pupil. Is it very foreign? Is this your first time? Maybe you will even be scared. Those who see that bottomless loneliness and regret will cry like crazy, maybe even laugh. You have never seen yourself, in fact the eyes you see are not you, they are your image in the mirror.

Are you looking for small pleasures? Here is a gift for you. Do this every day, morning and evening, twice a day. Look in the mirror! And look him in the eyes and say, "I love you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you." Thank you. You may remember that I described this method called "Hooponopono" in my article of the same name.

Then say to him, without taking your eyes off him: "You are precious and safe. You are under divine protection". Do this twice a day so that you can take a break from life with a little joy and your soul and body will be healed. After 21 days, along with peace and serenity, the little child inside you will be healed.

When one grows up, one thinks that happiness lies in great achievements. Where and how were Caesar, Nero or Napoleon happy? When the people of the countries they conquered bowed before them, or when they bowed before a pair of eyes they loved?

Here's a tip for you. The most beautiful of the small pleasures that we overlook as we breathe in and out is love and smiling with love. Love is in plain, real and simple things. As long as we know how to see it. Small joys are in the purest, most natural state of life, in children and those who can remain children.

Now! How about a candy apple? Or a cotton candy?

Mukaddes Pekin Başdil

Researcher-Author

Source: Denizli Haber