Invitations
I am sitting on the balcony this morning, enjoying coffee — from pot to white mug.
It tastes like coffee.
It rained last night. The rain left its mark, which is beautiful.
The weather is chilly, but soft.
This is my peaceful Sweden.
I hear traffic and trains from a distance. Sometimes bird wings.
I don’t want to listen to music this morning.
I never knew my balcony could offer this level of peace and joy.
How calm, how fulfilled I feel.
What a joy that was.
The coffee is finished — still, I’m sitting.
What I was looking for outside was on my balcony all along.
How hilarious life is.
No human sound.
Traffic, birds — singing or winging.
How tasteful the train sounds from this distance.
When you’re too close, it’s overwhelming. But from here —
It soothes my soul.
It’s not a monstrous vehicle.
It’s gentle.
Hugging my ears.
Traffic is smooth.
Everyone is so friendly.
It’s like a waterfall — so uniform.
The wind is gentle.
It wants to acknowledge.
The birds are friendly.
Ah — finally, I hear a real singer, a small one.
Those with thick voices, the karga, are far away. That’s okay.
If someone didn’t know what cars or traffic were —
what would they assume this sound is?
It gives me a smile, witnessing the world wake up.
I hear one-time sounds —
human is waking up.
The traffic sound has an interesting texture.
It stops and starts at the same time.
A feeling of sadness overtook me. What was that?
“Qu Qu Qu” — the bird’s call.
It is my childhood.
I am sleeping outside, waking up early in the morning.
Chilly weather.
They are kind friends.
They bring joy and safety.
It is another morning.
You are safe.
Enjoy this priceless morning — quiet and chilly.
Now I realize —
it is not Sweden.
It is me.
Sleeping on the roof or in the garden, in Hilvan.
I am alone.
I am safe.
I am happy.
The hot sun is sleeping.
The demands are sleeping.
The expectations are sleeping.
I am not suffocated.
I am breathing life —
clean, quiet, soft, breezy air.
Same breakfast for months already.
It delivers the same comfort, joy, nourishment — every single time.
Is it because it is sweet?
Or is it because it is sweet?
So in some way, it could be considered eating meditation.
Ooommm.
I was cutting the banana — it was already ripened more than enough.
It was an opportunity for someone.
Then, already familiar, a challenging voice appeared:
You’re consuming too much sweet these days.
Can you skip honey this time?
I could’ve fallen for it,
if I hadn’t met that voice properly the other day.
So I thought, It’s okay. Let’s move on.
I took a bit of honey.
And the meditation continued.
Each spoon carried immeasurable love into my mouth.
I was just watching and enjoying.
I was not watching any TV series.
Then another voice took the opportunity —
this one talking to someone else:
In a day, you do so many things.
Are you ever aware of your actions?
Do you even pay attention to what your body is doing?
This is the lecturing voice.
It always lectures others.
The problem isn’t the lecture —
the words are golden, valuable.
The confusion is always about the audience.
Then, another correcting voice came in,
redirecting the lecture to its true addressee.
I was back to the spoon.
Back to the moment.
I was trying to pay attention to the care I was being provided.
I enjoyed the last small piece of that heaven.
And I was about to step into my other favorite part of the day:
coffee, music, and sitting and journaling.
But something felt unusual this morning.
I’ve done this for years —
same sofa corner, same travel mug, same favorite songs.
And yet, I didn’t want it anymore.
I didn’t want to sit there.
Didn’t want coffee in that mug.
Didn’t even enjoy my favorite songs.
I struggled to find new ones.
I had already tortured myself going through the motions,
even while knowing I didn’t want to.
But what else could I do?
How else could I enjoy a morning?
These were some of the thoughts during my making-coffee meditation.
Why didn’t I have ground coffee already?
What a grumpy attitude.
Is it because I failed your challenge with honey?
Then — the self-grounded coffee invited me to smell it.
So I did.
How earthy.
It took me where it came from.
The trash under the sink also invited me.
I resisted at first.
You’re not full yet. Why should I take you out now?
Then somehow I was convinced.
I might not be able to do it later — I’ll take the chance now.
The whole cabinet invited me
to clean it properly, maybe reorganize a little.
So I complied.
The PMD bag was calling me too, but it had to wait its turn.
I was taking the trash out to the balcony.
I opened the door.
A clean, chilly, soft morning air rushed in and hugged me.
I was disoriented for a second.
I was dealing with the PMD bag
when the coffee called out to me — like a good wife:
Please enjoy a warm coffee in the white mug while working very hard.
So I did.
Black coffee in a white mug.
How tasty.
It was a lovely kiss.
The invitations and the crowd in the kitchen had their own share.
Then — another invitation.
From the balcony.
A balcony I hadn’t sat on in six years,
only recently cleaned for the first time.
I was shy.
My balcony is too exposed.
I don’t feel comfortable being so out there,
so close to the other buildings.
So at first, I stood at the door.
Drank a cup while standing —
like dipping my toes in water.
After that, I was ready to take the jump.
Suddenly, I was sitting in my camping chair
in the middle of the balcony.
I was invited to write this story.
I am invited to live a life —
and I am learning to accept it.