The Aesthetics of Return

The indescribable scent of a sky that has remained still for years, and the gentle caress of a breeze that whispers of the desert: this is how certain returns reveal themselves, fleeting yet profound, on an ordinary day graced by a rare, almost unattainable stillness.

True peace seems never to fully belong to this world; yet humanity continues to chase it, often without even realizing.

Only later does one understand that such a pursuit is like trying to grasp a balloon that bursts midair, letting it drift back to the earth.

Humans seem innately drawn toward a higher plane of existence. This longing threads through cultures, through religions — if we dare to call them that — and through the very substance of our being. We fall, we rise, we chase the kite struggling to stay upright in the wind, only to pause once more. The authentic path lies in continuing forward, whether we must crawl or, at times, leap with abandon toward a fleeting elevation. Sometimes, we even carve deep furrows along the way.

When the journey reaches its end, we may be cast into another dimension of being. One might imagine leaping from one planet to another, traversing the solar system from Neptune to the Sun: another trial, perhaps the most decisive.

Life itself resembles an exam in which, all too often, the page remains blank, the mind unable to offer an answer. Yet within that apparent emptiness, invisible learning takes root. Sit in silence, attempt to think of nothing, and perhaps it will be the distant bark of a dog, the laughter of children in a courtyard, or a far-off echo that fills the void, reminding us that meaning does not always spring from direct effort.

If the world demands the solution to a calculation — 678 - 6 × 5 + 9 — and the mind falters, it is no condemnation. Rather, it is an invitation to another trial. Not everything that yields an immediate result brings salvation.

Sometimes, it is precisely the blank page that withdraws, only to fill itself elsewhere with sense and meaning, returning later imbued with the scent of jasmine or the dampness of an ancient forest.

It matters not if one cannot answer today. Time opens doors the present cannot even imagine. There is no need to glance at others’ notebooks or mimic their solutions.

No one is left without what is necessary, even if the fruits of one’s labor take years to emerge. Success is neither swift nor ostentatious: it is more like a sky held motionless for years, or the brush of a desert wind. And on a day we do not expect, that same invisible force paints clouds, the moon, and flowers upon the page that once seemed abandoned to emptiness.