Sunday, March 5, 2017
3/6/17—Enjoying the Journey
The first message was when I was watching a sunset with Kizzie the other night. All the clouds were in the northwest, when usually most of the action is in the west and southwest. So I was looking up my street when the clouds took on an intense pinkness and this one house in particular was framed perfectly by the deep blue sky and intense pinkness.
As I noticed that and thought to myself, "it's a shame I don't have my camera out here, because those guys missed the most perfect shot of their house there could ever be," the sky changed. That quickly. And the perfect moment was gone. And, even though I was looking at it the whole time, I missed the transition because my attention was on cameras and perfect shots. My wandering mind wandered away from the moment.
So a few days pass and I'm sitting out back on a chilly, breezy, but otherwise gorgeous spring day, and I make a point to appreciate it. Then one of my neighbors starts in with some sort saw or something. It was in short bursts, completely unpredictable, off and on. So I decided to make a deal with the high pitched, brain eating buzz and I get some really good in-the-moment appreciation in in between the whirring, as well as some practice at non-judgment in regard to disturbing noises.
And as I drank in the Vitamin D of the sun on a cloudless day, appreciated my fully flowered ornamental pear, saw trees beginning their multi-phase leafing process, heard birds chirping and wind chimes chiming, a half moon easily visible in the midday sky, I was reminded again to appreciate the moment. And I lingered out there for over an hour. Maybe it was an excuse to postpone housework, but I gave myself that.
Because life is a lot like my neighbor's saw on a beautiful day. There are times when everything is in perfect alignment, life is perfect and you feel organically at one with nature and the universe. And then someone turns on a saw. And while the goal is to transcend the saw—and I get better and better at that all the time—eventually your moment comes to an end. Life intervenes. Your mind wanders. And you lose touch.
This is true about moments throughout your day. And it's true about life in general. It's true in the micro and the macro. Joy is rarely found in the thinking...thinking that the neighbors should really have a picture of their cute house with the clouds. It's found in the non-thinking...experiencing the fluffy pinkness of the moment and being within it as one of its many organic parts...as part of the cellular structure of the moment. (And there's really no reason the saw can't be part of that cellular structure, too. I just have a prejudice toward nature-made sounds, as opposed to man-made ones.)
Moments pass. Dreams pass. Life passes. And we get to decide when to be in the moment and when not to be. We also get to decide if, when something intrudes upon the moment, it's actually an intrusion worthy of giving our moment over to. Sometimes that means welcoming the intrusion into the moment, sometimes that means finding another moment that's free of intrusions, and sometimes that means removing the intrusion altogether.
I feel like I've been going through a big sorting process of intrusions lately. And as a result, I'm finding more peace and joy. Knowing that moments like these pass either suddenly or gradually without noticing, I'm making more of an effort to stop and enjoy them when I can. I have a habit of interrupting these moments too quickly with thoughts of chores and other distractions. But today I'm thinking the toilet will eventually get scrubbed regardless. So why not enjoy a perfect day?