On a bright Saturday morning in May, I wanted to write a short story about a cat and a duck. A quiet, odd combination indeed, but it just so happens to be an image from a jazz music video I was listening to that morning.

I want to write about this scene on my screen in as much detail as possible, I thought. But once I started thinking about how to describe the visualization, something in me stopped me from writing. I am not sure how to describe it — the words of the scene flowed through me in my mind but my fingers weren’t typing, writing, or to say it simply, putting words down on paper.

I wondered why this was. I wanted to write the scene, I thought, but something cripples me in a heart-clenching sort of way. Is it because it won’t be perfect? Will I fail in describing the beautiful scene in front of me properly? I still don’t know. What stops me? Perfection, I thought — the feeling of failure that people might not visualize the same image as the one I am seeing in front of me.

Has anyone else been stuck like this before, I wondered. Is that important? My mind asked.

It’s like I am analyzing the conclusion of what people might think before I even start. It’s going to be a failure even before starting. I decided it clearly in my head — this was a waste of my time.

But really, fear keeps us crippled, right? It keeps us from making mistakes, sure, but it keeps us from living a little with our words. Words that describe the vivid imagination of a person can be liberating, especially when they stimulate all the senses in your body. That’s rich storytelling — and me, I can’t do it. Yet.

This feels like the Buddha’s story about the arrow of suffering. The person is asking for reasons why instead of pulling the arrow out.

After writing all this, here is my first attempt at writing the scene describing the black cat and a duck.

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Amidst a lotus pond, there was a small patch of green grassland. There on the green patch, with a tablecloth underneath them, sat a black cat and a duck. The duck was soundly sleeping on a lotus leaf, snoring loudly. The cat, on the other hand, was busy writing something in his journal. What a strange duo.

They were surrounded by lotuses that were blooming and about to bloom, water lilies and lotus leaves, reeds, and beautiful colored wildflowers in yellow, purple, white, blue, pink — you name the color, it was there to be observed.

Everything about the scene seems pleasant, right? The wind was blowing softly, making the reeds move gently in the air, the lotus leaves and lotuses swaying with it. What a pleasant morning. Ah, to be on this patch of land would be anyone’s wish — to sit alongside the writing cat and the sleeping duck and take their surroundings all in.

Everything seemed fine until the sky grew cloudy and began to drizzle gently on the pond and the patch of land. Light raindrops started accumulating on the lotus leaves and lotus flowers. The green grass was being lightly covered with raindrops. The rain felt soft, inviting, gentle.

This didn’t deter the writing black cat or the duck. They kept on doing the same as before — writing and sleeping. They enjoyed the rain just as much as the sun. No complaints, no running for cover to avoid getting wet. Accepting the present moment as it is. How wonderful it was, listening to the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the green grass and the pond, the cool breeze moving through the air, the wet grass and lily pads with raindrops slightly dripping off them and splashing into the water below. The smell of fresh rain and earth soaking it up. What an aroma. Truly, this was the place to be. Accepting what is, here and now.