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July 21, 2020 / Congau


The fragrance in the air cannot be seen. It is present in the temple like the spirits that reside in the altars and float above the worshipers. Its whisper is not heard, but it is felt; its colors are not noticed by the eye but are perceived. Words that are not words are understood without being grasped. The hues of the rainbow form an arch of incomprehensible comprehension encompassing the universe of the temple. You can smell it.

The sense of smell is mysterious. It creeps into the consciousness without announcing its appearance. You may not know it is there and seemingly from nowhere a thought occurs to you. A memory from your distant past, a picture from childhood, a day when something happened. It was quite insignificant, long forgotten, but now it is suddenly back. Why? Unwittingly a fragrance flew in through your nostrils. A burning incense perhaps. Passing that house, the smoke must have found you and as you move along the memory has stuck. That childhood day is back.

Do you remember? It was winter. You see the snow covering the landscape. It is cold, but you feel warm. It is Christmas and there are lights in the dark; stars sprinkled on the pine trees. There is also the silhouette of a church in the dark eve. You enter the church and perceive it from inside. The atmosphere addresses you with the wholeness of all the impressions but you notice nothing in particular. You are not even conscious of the incense, but it is there, and it affects you, forming the essence of a memory.

It was there, and it is here years later. It has returned. It.

We do not see all that we see. We cannot talk about all that we know. It is just there, like burning incense.

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