A man is sin, hers of his sins and therefore it is hard to break away from the earth and body, and thoughts.
People - as an ants: the day - the day-day on her forming heap, fuss, run there and come here, wear sausage and vodka, new furniture and new toilets, jeans and televisions ... worry about their minks and larvae in them, about their queens - Matts, sometimes go war to the next anthill and on each other ...
And often they do not even think that besides their heaps and a nearby lawn, on which they trample every day, every day, there is still an eternal sun over them, and blue sky, and ancient space ...
We are those ants. Puff. Centers of the Mirozdanya and the crowns of the Universe.
We are engaged, translated by our important affairs. We are in stress at work, because we want to build a career and earn a lot of premium money. We are concerned about our family and relationships, because we are not just like billions to us and billions with us, we have moved and gave offspring according to the main natural instinct, but did something special, exceptional, nothing like that. We are concerned about buying an apartment or build a house, and ready to put half, or even more, our lives.
We are special. We are unique. We are unique.
We love to talk and poke. About the same sausage and jeans that we are in our mink, about work and career, about money and family. All our conversations are important-previable. All our deeds are worthless. We are the best preferable.
But we, so wonderful, smart and unique, almost never raise our small and smart heads and do not look beyond our ant heaps. In the blue sky. For the golden sun. There, where the universe ...
We have the eternal sky with which a billion winters and which is billion light years. Eternal clouds flee it. Above us billions of worlds. Billions of Suns, billions of galaxies, billions of universes.
We rarely look into the sky, increasingly - to themselves under the fussy legs. Well, and if we do it, then for a minute, two, no more. Because we are busy-translated. Concerned-preoccupied. We are in a hurry to live, and it is associated with us ... well, again with the very formile bunch and everything that should be in it.
Because if it did more often and longer, maybe we would understand that all that we are doing now, all that we are killed today, everything that tomorrow we strive, does not have the most grandiose value we give With its important, prevalent and very minor business. It does not even matter at all. Neither for the sky or even for us exactly in a hundred years.
The world is huge, the sky is endless, the universe is infinite. But we prefer to live in our forming heap, to betray our ants a universal significance, to engage in their ant affairs.
And many of us will never understand that the bright sun shone over their ant heap and was a blue sky. And they ... were. Were hardworking, blind ants.
Ants on the formic heap ...
Author - Igor Tkachev
Source - Springzhizni.ru.