We get older, sure. And, eventually we start to collapse . We settle and lean and slowly, if we are true to our selves, take on the nature of a beautiful stone ruin. It happens magically, a little bit more each year. That's because we're not made of any of that indestructible manufactured stuff like the plastic garbage that fills all the dumps and oceans with non-disintegrating purposelessnes. No, we age with a beautiful timely decomposure. We don't 'lose' our composure we 'find' it within that which has crumbled.
Our purpose is to let time wear us down like an old stone castle or some stately ruins. There, covered with moss and ivy, amidst the fallen down sections, much of the structure is still proudly standing. The sense of place is strongest here.
We seek out these kind of beautiful places in our travels because their mystery has a value far beyond the mere cleverness of novelty or
the predictability of common knowledge. We look to find a genuine experience that isn't just trendy or even understood.
So too, a person for whom time has been given a place to do what it needs to do, begins to take consolation in nolonger being something that has not yet started to collapse.
Those of us who enjoy discovering an old stone ruins standing in the mist , seem to sense something hidden there , more than the sum of all the parts - both real and missing. There will always be more beauty to be missed . And we perhaps, as ruins, will too eventually dissolve away and become nothing but mist.
