#quotes.

And the thing about the outdoors and the way that the human species evolved in the outdoors, all the information that we encounter, the sensory information that we encounter in nature, is processed really easily and effortlessly and efficiently by the brain. Our sensory faculties are kind of tuned to the kind of information and stimuli that we encounter in nature. And so this is, again, this is the scientific reason behind what everybody knows, which is that you feel more relaxed and more at ease when you take a walk outside and when you spend time in nature.

But what that has to do with attention is that that kind of diffuse attention that we’re able to spend in nature, where we’re not focusing very intently on anything but we’re just kind of allowing the gentle movements and the sort of soft contours of the things that we see outside just entertain our attention but in this very diffuse way, and the phrase psychologists use that I like is called soft fascination. It’s not a hard edged concentration. It’s a kind of soft fascination that you might experience when you’re looking at leaves rustling in the wind or watching waves on the ocean.

That state restores our attention. It kind of refills the tank in a sense. And so then we can return to our desk and we can return to that hard edged kind of concentration that we have to do to complete our studies or do our work. So I would say in your example that if you need to concentrate but you’re feeling frazzled, even a brief look out the window can have this kind of restorative effect. But ideally, a longer walk in nature would be good.

I crave a soul to call my own, a heart where every seed is sown. To whisper secrets, soft, divine, to hold her close and make her mine.

To love so deep it breaks the bone, a fire that claims me as its throne. Not for a moment, not for show, but sacred, endless — let her know.

To treat her gently as the skies, to trace the stars within her eyes. To walk with her through fleeting hours, her very breath, the rarest flowers.

But then a darker voice will rise, it laughs at love, it spits, it lies. It sneers at warmth, calls vows a game, a mask, a trick, a fleeting flame.

It whispers, “Love is painted lies, a brittle mask that soon will die. What gleams like gold is cheap disguise, a poisoned thrill, a lullaby.”

So here I stand in two split parts, with worship burned in broken hearts. One half craves love like holy air, the other half despises care.

I see the world, its bonds, its ties, and loathing blooms behind my eyes. If love is real, then how can they embrace, deceive, and still betray?

I’m torn between the ache and scorn, half blessed, half damned, half healed, half worn. I only wish to end this fight, to fade in silence, lost to night.

I do love this series.