When you begin to regain your wonder with the world, you want to share every moment of it, like it is something special. You want to describe the colors and patterns of sunlight which appear magically through the prism of your drinking glass.
But then you remember, this wonder isn’t special. It doesn’t make you newly enlightened, or “spiritual,” or mature. It makes you immature, because wonder is the natural, infantile state of mind.
You don’t need to cling to it, or try to eternalize every wonderful moment with a poem. It is the clinging which stifles wonder. It is the “owning” of wonder which makes it short-lived. Wonder is meant to banal. Presence is our innate privilege, a birthright we don’t need to fawn over to deserve. We are worthy of every moment of awe-inspiring existence.