We get up in the morning, those of us who operate on automatic, and instead of seeing the miracle of light beyond those closed shades we grumble, and fumble for our clothes, our eyeglasses, our shoes. We pour ourselves over a bowl of cereal, bleary-eyed, thinking about something else or nothing at all, shoveling it all in blindly: the sugary crisps, the anchorman’s words, the print on the cereal box, the bark of the dog. We make sure the mirror finds us presentable and we check our watches and we get in our cars.
And so it goes.
Without a thought, a word, a whisper of gratitude, we take it all for granted: the pinkely-orange dawn, the pool of blue sky through threads of white clouds that glide and disperse and fade away. The universe holds us, beckons us, shows us its glorious endless depths, but we see only the rounded toes of our old-man shoes, our old-man Greyhound bus shoes.
And so it goes.
The shoeshine man reads the newspaper, waiting for better days. The paper boy shoves hands in pockets and slouches to school, hearing only the rhythms from his IPod. The teacher presses chalk to board, straightens papers, polishes her apple-hearted smile, tired from last night’s pizza dinner with a man who didn’t give her a second thought in the morning.
And so it goes.
Time passes and we pass too, backwards or forwards, depending on which direction we view the clock. Are we in the past or in the future? Time is leaking through our days, our lives, and we are helpless to stop it. As quick as a hummingbird’s wings, the moment is gone. But did we live it? Did we inhabit it? Are we paying attention? Are we seeing the light or the dark, the love or the hate, the smooth or the rough? Are we paying attention?
Attention will escort us safely across the street. It will catch the micro warning on our lover’s face. It will still the moment of recognition in a baby’s focus. It will keep us here, now, centered, breathing with the rhythm of the earth, the sea, the tribe of humanity that we have joined, with or without choice—the jury’s still out on that one. But we do have a choice. To be or not to be. Here. Now.
Let’s lift our heads.
Open our dull eyes to the light.
Be mindful of the crisp morning air against our cheeks.
Ask ourselves: did I notice the gift I was given? Did I let my heart taste the goodness, the sweetness, the chocolate center of this ball we call home?
