Out of all things, with all things, a person can create something to leave visible, palpable, or imperceptible traces of their soul in creation. Not necessarily great and grand works like those admired and 'worshipped' in museum exhibitions and other 'temples' of the arts.

For example, one can squeeze a lemon in such a way that whatever remains is beautiful and whole, without a crumpled appearance. Another might fold ironed clothes with exceeding tenderness, as if they were family heirlooms, and place them in drawers with a reverent order.

Someone, returning home after an exhausting day hunting for life's necessities, might take off their shoes with true solemnity and arrange them respectfully side by side, as if they were about to sleep in an embrace, somewhat like tender, passionate, and happy lovers.

The way one places a slice of white cheese on top of a tomato salad can become a work of art, a genuine mark bearing witness to the soul of the person preparing the nourishment for a midday meal or evening dinner for family or a group of friends.

But even humbler things can bear witness to the qualities of souls; they can become the surface for the hidden vision of joy that lurks deep within people, which often, if not always, fails to reveal itself in grand and flashy ways.

For example, the way someone leaves a garbage bag in a trash can is often indicative of their soul. Others, the majority of people, throw the garbage away with disgust, almost from a distance, and run off to cleanse themselves. Some, a rare few, approach the bins with reverence, open them carefully, and deposit the remnants of food and other things they unfortunately could not consume, with sorrow and genuine respect for the material. They deposit them almost like their dead in the gaping tomb of a dreadful parting. Some even (and I have heard this with my own ears) wish the garbage a good return journey to the earth from whence it came, and a safe return in other forms of life.

So today, lost in naive thoughts, I took it upon myself to decorate and shape my cappuccino coffee

with the face of an unknown ancient general, in the style of the sorrowful Hellenistic reliefs of Pergamon, so that with every sip I might recall the beauty of the distant, aimless journey, the sweet, conscious futility of conquests, and the splendor of vain wandering within the embrace of the visions of pure joy.