A Beautiful Object

When I was very young, I looked at a soccer ball. A sphere has a kind of beauty, but this thing had octagons and hexagons stitched together to make a sphere, each shape in slight relief, alternating white and black.

I stared, appreciating and enjoying without knowing what it was.

Now, when I see a soccer ball, my mind begins listing what its about: I think of the sounds,how its manufactured, the times I played the game, the rules, wins and losses, and the lovely sweaty strong limbs of south American women famous in the sport. But the mind is a tool and all these thoughts are like swinging a hammer without building anything. These thoughts have no meaning or value. They distract from the reality I once appreciated easily.

I need to relearn how to behold a thing without telling myself about it.

 

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