15th April 2010On the third morning of the 4 day Easter break I caught a stunning sunrise. The colours had infiltrated my bedroom through the top half of the window. Pulling back the sarong that covers the lower half, my sleepy eyes widened to take in its full glory.
I set my alarm for 6am the next morning so I could get up and witness yet another sunrise, fully conscious, on Easter Monday.
Dog and I sprang out of bed when the alarm went off, threw on clothes and walked in the warm, dark morning air to the end of our street. From there is a view through suburbia to the eastern hills. My hungry eyes waited for the first sign of light over the black silhouette of the languid hills. We weren't disappointed - the sky flourished through a rainbow of pink and orange irridescent hues.
That one act, rising early just to watch the beauty of the sunrise, felt incredibly mystical.
It gave purpose to the day, a deliberate message to my psyche of what is really important in this lifetime - immaculate presence.
It also felt like a delicious act of heresy. Watching a sunrise defies workday convention. It's swimming upstream against the social norm - effortlessly. It's my silent rebellion against consumer mentality in a world gone mad.
Besides, I enjoy standing on street corners, gazing to the sky.
Watching the sunrise is now part of my weekday routine - it sets an intention for the day to remain true to my values.
This morning was a slight anti-climax - there were no colours or thrills - the dark of night softly gave way to grey mist and emerging colourless cloud forms, but the power of dawn cannot be stifled by grey. I can breathe it in and expand beyond this dimension.
Watching the universe give birth to a new day is a miracle, and what a blessing that we can witness this miracle every morning.
After watching the autumn sunrises in April I have enough time to do an hour of yoga, shower and walk to work. As we progrss inevitably toward winter, inch by inch the sun will rise later. And by mid winter (July) it will be yoga first, four layers of clothes, and a thick scarf and gloves before heading down the street for my secret rendezvous with the eastern sky.
2 comments:
This practice is one of presence - both subtle and enormous in its effects on the day. I, too, have begun to understand the depth of simply rising in the dark and welcoming whatever is in each moment. I love that you are half a world away, as you slip through autumn into winter, I am slipping into spring and then summer... beautiful. Thank you for posting!
Hi Sarah
Thanks for your comment. It led me to your blog and the discovery of a like mind, half a world away. I've linked to it and lok forward to reading back over your thoughts and insights. Thank you too for posting.
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