In the quiet of dawn’s approach, I sit and type beneath the golden glow of my desk lamp as the darkness outside thins with each moment passing by.
In the quiet I feel my heart beating. I feel my body moving, the bones within each finger stretching with every letter I type, reaching out from a to z to connect the dots and create a picture for my day.
Awareness of this moment embraces me. Awareness of this moment passes into the next, second by second. And I awaken.
These are the moments of my morning. This is the quiet beginning of my day. I am grateful.
I like the morning. Always have. As a child, I seldom slept in. My body seemed to be wired to the dawn.
When my daughters were little, I was the one up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning while the whole house slept. Still am.
For me, morning-time is a time for reflection, for preparation. And anticipation.
It is the time of day when I ask myself, “What kind of day do I want to have?” “What kind of day do I want to create?”
What is my intention for the day?
My blog-friend Ann Koplow, shares photos today on her blog of her experience of intentionally walking around yesterday looking up. It’s well worth the visit to see what wonders she found simply by raising her head and eyes to see what was all around her as she journeyed through her day in Boston where she lives. Some of what she saw was always there, just unnoticed. Some, like the clouds, are passing whimsies created by nature. All are breath-taking and heart-stirring.
I like the idea of intentionally walking around looking up and taking photos of what I see. So often, I am lost in thought when I walk, or my eyes are focused on the ground before me — a necessity in the past few weeks as ice covered sidewalks everywhere! — that I don’t always see the world around me. I don’t see the people passing by. The artwork on walls. The clouds above. The magic and wonder all around.
In every moment, there is always time to look up and see. Really, really see.
Years ago, when I was healing from the relationship that almost killed me, I used to take Ellie the wonder pooch for a walk into the forest at the end of the street where I lived. My heart was broken in those days. My thoughts foggy. To remind myself of the possibilities within each moment, I would walk through the forest and consciously lift my head to look up into the sky stretched far above the towering pines. I would stop and stand still and listen to the whisper of the pine needles, the birds tweeting, the tiny forest creatures rustling beneath the deadfall and see. Really, really see the sky far above.
In that act of lifting my head and focussing on the infinite expanse of sky above me, my heart would lighten, my thoughts would clear and I would feel peacefulness envelop me. In the lifting up of my eyes, I felt the hopefulness shimmering all around me and the limitless possibilities of the day stretching out before me.
And in the quiet of simply standing in the forest and seeing the wonder all around me, gratitude arose and darkness vanished into light.
I still do that now. Stop and simply look up to feel and see and sense the moment all around me. Albeit I don’t do it as frequently, but many years later, just the act of tilting my head back and looking up into the sky above always reminds me that now is not forever. The possible exists in every moment.
In the quiet of the morning, I contemplate the day awakening and set my intention for the day.
Let me see, with my whole heart, let me feel with my whole being, the wonder all around. Let me see into the hearts of those around me the beauty of their spirits shining. Let me see the possible, know the promise, feel the passion in every breath I take.