29 Aug How’s Your Relationship With Life?
OUR WORLD IS ONE of relationships. It’s built upon how we interact with the space before us — the physical space and the mental space. Things come and go; they become important and then lose significance; physical things build and clutter.
We’re weighed down mentally by what we store in our heart without a release, without an escape, without an opening.
What is your relationship with the space before and the space within you? How are you feeling connected to being itself? Do you feel a release, or do you find yourself holding on?
Today is a clean slate. Look around, and notice what you see. Recognize what makes your spirit lift, and what feels like added clutter.
I love the early morning.
I look outside and life is slowly presented; molecule by molecule, lifts the cloak of night. Through writing and observing, I feel as though I have a direct relationship with life itself.
I’m welcoming the day, instead of the day welcoming me.
Perhaps that’s what makes life worth living; the moments where we feel integrated into being itself, where it doesn’t matter what’s taking place. The moment bears significance; this becomes everything.
The darkness that surrounds the green branches beyond my window fades. I watch the leaves, although they hardly move. They’re sleepy like the rest of us. At first, the light is blue, and cold, and secretive.
It reveals the world to us and says, look at all of this. This creation of incomprehensible nature. This is life, says the fading morning light, and you’re a part of it. Essential to it, for the thoughts you have now, as you see me uncover the details of existence, make the details what they are. Your thoughts instill reality with meaning.
What does it mean to you, the lingering dew that hangs from the petals of grass on the front lawn, morning after morning?
The dew that lingers atop the green blades evokes the memory of waking for my soccer matches early in the morning. The world was cold and the sun would rise and cause the field to glisten.
We’d play atop the still-wet grass. The individual blades would cling to my cleats — they signified play, a dirty pair of cleats. The same play I feel now, when, for a moment I determine to return to the spirit I was, the spirit of a kid, the spirit I am, who didn’t care about looking foolish, but only sought to find what made life fun.
The smell — the smell of freshly cut grass — the cleansing, earthy smell of renewal, shedding to grow anew.
And the birds begin to chirp as the light reveals its secrets; they hide in the leaves, then send out their call, a shrill, a faint note that imbues the morning with the backdrop of music. The day becomes beautiful: the sound, the smell, the sight. The world wakes as the darkness lifts.
How will you see the world today? What sights, smells, sounds and memories will you lose yourself in?