Not Thinking...

I promise this will be the last downer post for a while.
Well the week at least... after this I plan to be far too gloriously busy to give it anymore thought than I already have but as I said the other day, the final week is always the hardest as you just never know what news could be around the corner...

Still, have you ever been told "don't look now" only to instinctively look anyway?

That's pretty much what it's like to not think about something you're trying really hard not to think about. All the while you're reminding yourself not to think about it but the whole act of reminding yourself not to makes you aware you were just thinking about it.... you see my dilemma?... MmmHmm...

Well, as you may know I was reading a book called Eleven Minutes by one of my favourite authors, Paulo Coelho.

I find it rather interesting that it's said that one always seem to pick the right book of his instinctively when "the time is right" so to speak, and that seems to be exactly what happens to me without exception.

For instance, Eleven Minutes is a story that revolves around sex, self discovery and morality that in the end I found a little too predictable yet I still managed to find an extract that resonated completely with my current state of mind:

'In all the languages of the world, there is the same proverb: "What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't grieve over." Well, I say that there isn't an ounce of truth in it. The further off they are, the closer to the heart are all those feelings that we try to repress and forget. If we're in exile, we want to store away every tiny memory of our roots. If we're far from the person we love, everyone we pass in the street reminds us of them.

'The gospels and all the sacred texts of all religions were written in exile, in search of God's understanding, of the faith that moves peoples, of the pilgrimage of souls wandering the face of the Earth. Our ancestors did not know, as we do not know, what the Divinity expects from our lives - and it is out of this doubt that books are written, pictures are painted, because we don't want to forget who we are - nor can we.'

Over the next week my heart will be trying really hard not to grieve over what the eyes don't see.