I have not been writing in a while. As soon as I get too caught up in the external world, my writing somehow drifts away to a sacred place. Nevertheless, it never goes far, it’s always near, quietly reassuring me that it will still be here when I’m ready to let my fingers dance on the keyboard again. When the days are filled with tasks, endless to-dos, and too much screen time, my intuition falls asleep. It craves the stillness of an early morning. It awakens amidst the blooming trees of July. It cherishes the spaciousness of the bluest, warmest vanilla sky. It feeds on quiet moments in between. I don’t always listen, and I have for sure neglected its needs. My soul grows tired, and I ask myself: What is missing? And then I realise, nothing is missing. I was focusing on the wrong things. I got carried away, not by the beauty of nature, but by the chaos of the external world. As soon as I do too little of the things that …