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Writer's pictureElizabeth Genovesi

This is it . . .

An instant of clarity.

The deep red ragù boiling softly with a plopping sound while emitting a dense smell that fills the kitchen with a sense of home. Next to the ragù, on the stovetop, are the vegetables harvested from the orto just 10 minutes earlier. Vibrant greens mixed with the foggy steam that arises as they reach the perfect cooked tenderness. Standing there, being immersed in that moment the phrase, “This is it.” arose.

A simple phrase that in that precise moment had such power. A type of remembering that knocked on the door of the mind. Something that had been known and then forgotten was rediscovered.

Then, “What are you looking for? What is it are you trying to find ?” And in that instant clarity spoke of the uselessness of this constant searching, sometimes subtle and sometimes quite pronounced. A process of trying to find an elusive something that we are told may take lifetimes to recognize.


“This is it.” puts a stop to the futility of trying to find something that is already there, that is not lost. It is ignorance that keeps us blind to the fact that truth is right there in front of us, with us and active in each and every moment, even when unacknowledged.


There it was, in the boiling popping ragu, starring out, clear as day. This is it. Nothing more and nothing less. A simplicity so striking it is almost hard to grasp. This very minuscule instant, and the next and that which comes after that.







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