The Five Senses

Like every morning, I took my dogs out for a walk today, only this time, I forgot my headphones.

When I have them with me, I usually listen to the news, get ahead on family and friends' gossip by sending voice notes, or lose myself in a podcast. But this small accident reminded me of something I'd been forgetting for a long time: the world keeps speaking when we stop listening to everything else.

I didn't realize it until I got to the park. I saw a couple dressed like seasoned runners rushing past me as if they were training for the Berlin Marathon, and a man on a bicycle, wearing a suit and a backpack, pedaling with the urgency of someone running late. They all had headphones on.

In that moment, I heard two birds that sounded as if they were gossiping about the couple I'd just seen. I looked up, trying to find them among the trees. I never did, but just then a gentle breeze swept through, making the leaves sway as though they were waving hello.

That same breeze carried the scent of something that reminded me of jasmine. I found myself following it with my nose, just as my dogs do when they catch an interesting smell, until I was distracted by the sound of a small stream that usually goes unnoticed. I kept walking beside it.

One of my dogs jumped into the water to cool off, and I cupped my hands to give the other one a drink. I could feel the cool water in my palms and the gentle brush of his tongue as he drank. Such a tiny moment, one I probably would have missed if my attention had been somewhere else.

That's when I realized the park wasn't any different from the one I visit every day. The birds had always been there. So had the stream. The scent of the flowers—at least when it's not winter—had been there too.

The only thing that had changed was my attention.

And when my attention shifted, it was as if my senses had been patiently waiting for that very moment to remind me that I had never truly disconnected from the world; I had simply stopped listening.

As I kept walking, I noticed something else. I wasn't just seeing more, I was feeling different too. My breathing had become deeper, my body calmer, and my mind less preoccupied with what to listen to next, what to reply to, or what to think about.

Maybe that's why we meditate: not to escape the world, but to come back to it.