I enter the portal again tonight.
The desert greets me with its familiar stillness—
dry air, cool enough to breathe easily.

I stop in front of the Sky Cabin but don’t go in.
Not yet.
The sky is too beautiful to ignore.

So I stand there, head tilted back, letting the stars fill me.
The Milky Way arches overhead like a quiet question:
what are you doing here, little human?

Gratitude.
That’s what I’m doing here.

Grateful for a place to retreat to—
even if it only exists in imagination.
The Cabin is real enough in the ways that matter.

As I stand there, I think about order.
About Fate.
The Stoics said that Fate is God—
the pulse that moves everything, including me.

I wonder how much of my life is already written.
Do I really choose,
or do I simply agree with what was chosen long ago?

I’ve read so much about it, and still the question lives on.
Maybe it’s not meant to be solved.
Maybe it’s meant to be lived with.

Epictetus said that only our opinions and attitudes are up to us.
I think about that often—
how many times I’ve planned something,
a lesson, a concert, a walk,
and watched the plan crumble or shift into something else.

Maybe that’s the Order, doing its quiet work.

If I make it to the store, as Epictetus says,
it’s because the universe let me.
If not, it didn’t.

But my attitude—
that’s mine.
That’s always mine.

The stars seem to nod in agreement.
The desert doesn’t argue.

I stay a little longer before I finally step inside.
The Sky Cabin waits patiently.

Some nights, that’s all I need—
to remember that freedom isn’t control,
it’s trust.

I enter the portal. I am in front of The Sky Cabin.

The candle makes a soft noise. Perfect Music plays through my invisible speakers.

I step inside and see my books. I feel warm by them. Recently, I hung a picture in the cabin—me and a mentor of mine. It feels perfectly fitting.

What now?

I write a blog post.

It’s been a few days since I entered The Sky Cabin. I’ve been busy lately, but now this is my time.
Here, I can rest and recover. I do so as I type these words slowly.
It’s meditative and restorative.

And I have to say—Perfect Music really helps set the atmosphere around here.

On Perfect Music

Although I’m a violinist by profession (or perhaps because of it), I don’t listen to violin or classical music in the cabin. That kind of perfection is of a different sort—it’s not restorative in the way I need it here.

For me, restorative music means fingerstyle guitar. Slow banjo music also works beautifully when I want the sound that helps me recover.

But I can also find rest and recovery without any music at all—and I often do. The candle, scented or unscented, is what truly sets the atmosphere of the cabin.

And since I can bring a candle with me anywhere, I’ve learned to enter The Sky Cabin from different places, successfully.

The Reflective Part

Now, onto the heart of this post—the reflective part.

After typing those words above, I already feel ready to reflect. Reflection itself is restorative to me—perhaps not for everyone, but it is for me.

Lately, I’ve been reading The Book of Ichigo Ichie by Héctor García and Francesc Miralles. In a sentence, the book is about savoring the present instant, because there will never be a moment exactly like it.

So if I’m writing, I will never again write on this same date, at this same time, while this exact part of Perfect Music plays, breathing these same air particles.

Does that matter? Not the oxygen part, maybe—but what matters is the level of attention I give to this moment.

When I’m in flow, I may not even be aware of what I’m doing—because I am the doing. But I can pause for a sip of water and notice the privilege of this instant: I’m healthy, not in a hospital, but here, writing. I smell the perfect scent of this candle. I exist in this unique now.

And how is that different from gratitude? It isn’t. The difference is that Ichigo Ichie invites us to stop—to savor the instant itself. To stop everything: our thoughts, our flow, even our progress—for just a second—to taste life as it is.

Time and Change

I’ve thought about this before, because the Stoics share a similar idea (I’m a mentor at the College of Stoic Philosophers).

The day before one of my children’s birthdays, I often feel melancholic. They will never be seven again—or nine. That’s it. We’ll never ride our bikes again as a father of thirty-nine and a child of seven. From tomorrow on, it will be thirty-nine and eight.

And those are just numbers… but not really. An eight-year-old will soon be in a different grade, with new experiences. The bike ride will always reflect who we are at that exact moment, and our interactions will change—not in a bad way, necessarily, but they will be different.

One day we won’t play Lego anymore.

So today, I savored that.

And I have a confession: I didn’t want to play Lego. But I remembered—it was now or never. And after that Ichigo Ichie moment, I enjoyed it much more.

Time paused for a second. The beauty of that moment embraced me completely.

I get to play with Lego.
I get to share this time with the humans I helped create.
How cool is that.

But of course, this idea isn’t only for time with family or kids. You can be alone and still savor this moment.

Because every instant, even this one, is once in a lifetime.

Ritual

From the Shelf: The Art of Simple Living — Shunmyo Masuno

Grain of Wisdom from the Sandglass:
“To the world: your harmony is mine. Whatever time you choose is the right time.
Not too late. Not early.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.23

What the Candle Said:
“Do it today. Do it now. There might be no other time.”

The Rituals of the Sky Cabin

Every visit to The Sky Cabin ends with a few simple rituals.
They mark the moment between silence and return — a way of closing the circle.

From the Shelf
Each time I finish a post, I showcase one book from the Sky Cabin’s bookshelf.
The books rotate (I have an attic full of them).
Some are cozy, some are demanding — but all of them mean something to me.

Grain of Wisdom from the Sandglass
A single thought, usually from Marcus Aurelius or another hero of mine.
The sandglass is my favorite memento mori — it reminds me that every reflection is borrowed time.

What the Candle Said
I look at the flame for thirty seconds and write whatever comes to mind.
The candle always has something to say.

In these first posts, I’m trying to give the blog direction.

As I do so, I keep discovering the real nature of The Sky Cabin.

Marcus Aurelius’s idea of “retreating within” to examine one’s life seems spot on. That is exactly what happens here.

Yes, you can go to the cabin to relax or play. But you could do that anywhere.

What makes the cabin unique is its purpose: to recover from the noise of everyday life. Once you’ve found yourself again, you use that time to examine your life. That means reflecting on the events of the day, the week, or the month—and reviewing your own thoughts about how you’re living.

This ties back to the Stoics. In 2019, I enrolled in the College of Stoic Philosophers—a decision that changed everything for me. In 2021, I joined their faculty, and since then I’ve mentored more than 50 students in both introductory and advanced courses. Stoicism has been my path for over six years, with Marcus guiding the way throughout.

One Stoic idea that continues to fascinate me is anachoresis—Latin for “the inner retreat.” The Stoics described it as a turning inward to the hegemonikon (the ruling principle), where one studies life through reason. The Sky Cabin is, in many ways, born from this very idea.

So what belongs in the Sky Cabin? To me, it is a place to heal, to reflect, to study lightly, and to create. It becomes a kind of cycle:

1. Enter from the noisy world.

2. Recover — or play, meditate, or listen to music.

3. Reflect — examine life, ideas, and choices.

4. Create — writing, drawing, or something new.

The order doesn’t matter. You can do one activity, or all of them.

Perfect Music also belongs here. It should be undistracting, more like ambience: slow, low-volume, sometimes absent, to create variation. Music should help with recovery and centering without pulling you away. For me, it’s ideal for writing and examining ideas.

The cabin also needs a few rules. The first one is simple: don’t enter the portal unless you have at least 15 minutes of uninterrupted time. Entry should feel special. Only by respecting this rule can the cabin give you its full benefits.

And one last element: a journal. In the spirit of Marcus Aurelius, it is a crucial item of the cabin—something to capture reflections, doodles, readings, or even new creations. Electronics may enter as tools for writing, listening, or creating—but only consciously. They carry a high risk of disturbing the atmosphere, so they must be used with care.

This, so far, is how I see the Sky Cabin: a retreat into the ruling principle, a place for recovery, reflection, study, and sometimes… creation.

Ritual

From the Shelf: The Book of Ichigo Ichie — Héctor García & Francesc Miralles.

Grain of Wisdom from the Sandglass: “Free will is doing gladly what we have to do” — Carl Jung

What the Candle Said: “Turn it on. Yeah, the fire. Let it burn”

Cabin Cup: No tea today

Perfect Music (private playlist): Email me at skycabin@posteo.net if you want in — it’s my excuse to talk to you :)

The portal opens. I’m in front of The Sky Cabin.
Standing here, I feel peace.

I smell the wood of the cabin. It’s a smell I often think about when I’m at work.
But it’s not just the smell. The whole environment of the cabin creates that peace.

It begins with the minimalist design.
Only a few items, carefully chosen. None of them beeping.
They are silent. Analog.

I don’t always have Perfect Music playing magically through invisible speakers. Sometimes it’s off.
When I want to play, I let Perfect Music run in the background.
But not when I want to heal.
For healing, I prefer the sound of the sand falling in my sandglass.

It’s hard to hear, but you can get good at it.
The noise of the world is loud. The sandglass cures it.

I can also look at the bookshelf.
I rotate a carefully chosen list of books that watch me write. Others wait their turn in the attic, one day to join me here at the cabin.
Some I take back home, some I leave here. A few I’ve read many times, and just by looking at them, they give me peace.

Then there’s the table, always waiting for conversation. Real, human conversation. Not texts.
Not that those are bad, but speaking and seeing another person appeals more deeply to our primitive brain.
The analog ways bring a sense of peace, of reality—unlike living always in the cloud.

I keep listening to the sand.
What a neat sound.
Analog.

Cabin Ritual

From the Shelf: The Book of Ichigo Ichie — Héctor García & Francesc Miralles.

Grain of Wisdom from the Sandglass: “If I teach, and you don’t practice, then we are both wasting our time.” — Huang Xingxian

What the Candle Said: “You don’t need what you want. You want it, but you don’t need it.”

Desert Stones

• Moon’s Face: Waxing Crescent / First Quarter

• Planets Visible: Saturn, Jupiter, (Venus near horizon)

Cabin Cup: Drinking turmeric and ginger tea — enjoyment 67/100.

Perfect Music (private playlist): Email me at skycabin@posteo.net if you want in — it’s my excuse to talk to you :)

Every cabin is built by its items, and every item carries a story.

I am in my Cozy Corner, ready to enter the portal that leads to The Sky Cabin.
My place to get a respire. To recover from everyday life.

The first instruments that shape this space are the colors.
Soft, pastel colors that settle the mind. Colors matter. They create the right atmosphere.

Then comes the music. I call it Perfect Music.
Perfect Music creates the right ambience: mandolin, rustic sounds, acoustic and experimental, atmospheric—not so much melodic.
It does not distract. It carries me. It heals.
Perfect Music is key to opening the portal that leads to The Sky Cabin.

Now I’m in the desert. I step out of the portal and stand in front of the cabin.
The sky is marvelous, the sun has set, the air is clear. Dry.
I walk to the door. The wood creaks beneath my steps.
The scent of pine invites me in. The warm glow of a lit candle nurtures the atmosphere.

The cabin is simple, minimalistic, stripped down to only the necessary instruments.
One of my favorite items is the sandglass.
I can watch it endlessly, grain by grain.
Each one reminds me of the awe of being alive.

Against the wall is a bookshelf, carefully filled.
Though I am a book addict, the books here are chosen with intention.
This is not heavy study. This is not work.
The books here still feed the soul, but in a gentler way.
They give back more than they demand.

In front of the bookshelf are two wooden chairs. One for me, one for my guest.
The Sky Cabin was built for conversation, for letters, for friendship.

The sandglass runs. The candle burns. Time passes quietly.
We embrace the rustic, the analog, the simple.

This is not the rest of sleep.
This is the kind of rest that nurtures mind and body with warmth, atmosphere, and the right company.

You can stay here as long as you need.
I will stay too. Even in silence.
Together we can listen to Perfect Music, smell the candle, watch the sand fall.

Stay. Stay as long as you want.
And I will do the same.

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I suck at building, but somehow I built this place — right in the middle of nowhere in the Southwest USA, my favorite landscape. I came here using only my imagination. This is not a real place, but it is perfect.

The weather is warm, and right now the sun is setting. Soon it will be dark. In the desert, the stars are unbelievable. The sky is dry and clear; once the sun disappears, there are no lights anywhere. Just the faint silhouette of the mountains — and then the stars arrive, my companions.

It’s not that I like to be alone. It’s that here, without the noise, I can think.

Although The Sky Cabin is a blog, once you’re inside, the computer disappears. No electronics. No distractions. Only the fireplace, the books, and the night sky.

I can open a portal from my real home to this place. I’ve prepared a Cozy Corner in my house that looks just like The Sky Cabin: my favorite books, some stones, my chair, candles, and pastel colors. The only thing missing is the desert sky and a real fireplace.

Every day, I sit there to unwind. I listen to what I call Perfect Music — sounds that give me exactly what I need: recovery, thinking time, light learning, light engagement. Sometimes I go there to play, most of the time to read. And always, there’s a candle burning. My latest? A so-called male candle, with leather and wood on the label. It cost me two euros. I’m that cheap. But next time I’ll gladly pay full price — because it fills the corner with a smell I love.

I also come to The Sky Cabin to write. Short essays that help me digest life, plan ahead, and ask why. Philosophy is what I love — and for the past six years, Stoic philosophy has been my main path. It changed everything for me. (More on that in another post.)

Here, I hope to share my journey — but also to welcome you into The Sky Cabin. Inside, there are two wooden chairs and a table, the fireplace, the books. And you. With you, I hope to have conversations about life, especially its mysteries. We’ll learn together, listen together, and sometimes just look out the window at the marvelous night sky.

I invite you to create your own Cozy Corner: find the perfect music, light the right candle, gather your books. Don’t forget a sandglass — one of my favorite items. With these simple objects, a portal opens, and suddenly you’re here too, in The Sky Cabin.

Hope to see you here sometime. The tea is ready.