The other morning I watched a flock of terns swoop and stir the surface of the deep blue ocean's edge, fishing for their morning meal, and I found myself exhaling and smiling as I began my meditation. Here I was, perched on the rocks between Tropaco Point and Magan's Bay, witnessing sunrise's broody clouds and the horizon's layerings of Sahara dust (that makes its way to Caribbean waters every summer!) regarding the playful earnestness of the flying gulls who looked like origami folded paper-whites darting above indigo waters. It felt indulgent and yet so simple, their frolicking frenzy as they fed themselves. The joy and the effort. Their need and their desire.
As I get to wake up to this majesty every morning and witness so many creatures beginnings, be it the camouflaged lizards' feasting on tiny mosquitos next to me or the reaching white oleander blossoms held up by caterpillar looking branches, there is so much grace in this space of non-resistance. Yes, it is before 7am and the heat hasn't yet apexed nor the humidity set in to the pores of leaves or animals, but this gentle and quiet celebration transfixes me each day. It's my time, in solitude with the dogs splashed around me, and the sleeping house hidden from my gaze. I face the sunrise that bubbles out of the Atlantic from behind the green hills of Peterborg (always wondering if I need sunscreen) as I pay reverence to the day's making. I bring a pillow, my journal, a book, sudoku and settle in upon the once lava black with red streaks rock. Here I observe with eyes wide open noticing the birds high above or down below, the waves and their temperament, the fisherman going out on their what seem to be toy boats against a vast horizon, and then I slowly soften my gaze and bring those flight plans and crossing wakes into stillness within and follow my breath, eventually closing my eyes. As I set out to extinguish the comings and goings of thoughts and motion, and I ask myself, "What's here?"
Sometimes there is peace and a sinking in like honey to a tea cup, other days there is worry from a dream's leftovers or a child's upcoming travel and I can't find a comfortable seat. Like the lapping waves against the shoreline, the thoughts can be endless and stirring making it hard to find my center, my light. But even just in the practice and the ritualized motions I can glean a wisp of my is-ness and ground in that knowing. My days are not hectic, nor over programed, so one might think it curious that I treasure my hushed morning so much. All I can say is that it helps me meet the world with a more open heart. It lets me be okay with doing less and being more. I used to measure my days on a scale of what how much I could accomplish or get done- how many friends I could walk with or how I could squeeze one more thing into my schedule- a coffee, a work out, a client, a paper, a grocery shop. Now, it's about being present and mindful of what is possible and in front of me. Mothering, writing, painting, volunteering, yoga-ing, cooking, spinning, manifesting, flossing, and engaging with what's here. This can be challenging for an ego that used to thrive on helping others and being busy, especially when I look at my husband who is in the middle of managing/starting not just one company, but three. So, I gratefully return to my morning ritual, even when it's not morning, but my homing.
Like I am in the quiet space of each sunrise, I notice and allow the feelings that show up and meet them with as much compassion as I can. If I can be okay with simply giving attention to my intentions of creating something out of this new chapter, while being kind and patient with myself, the grace will come in the allowing (I get to mother as a full time job and we are provided for by a loving husband/father) rather than in the forcing of what I wish to be true (longing for a purpose that hasn't shown itself, yet). Mother Nature always leads me to a place where I can be kind within. Her mystery and innuendo always let me know that I am doing something right, if just by remarking on her charming gifts. My gasps of delight when I see the raindrops get swallowed by the aqua sea and all of the edges between liquid and air dissolve. My oooh-ing and ahhh-ing as the undressing sunset gets more mystical by the second, revealing an orgy of colors as he goes. The moments and the reverence always tend to work their magic on anything that feels "off". So, I think to myself, "If I could just reframe this whole tasking/worthiness/esteem thing and accept that my job right now is to appreciate and notice the breadcrumbs of beauty that surround me and then put them into words,"... maybe I'm on to something.
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