But, Today I Did ...
It’s been a minute since I set out on a 5 mile walk at 4:45 in the morning. But, today I did and I’m glad, because – at every turn - I was captivated by the sights and sounds that reside in the space between the darkness and the dawn - and by just how beautiful all of it is when seen and experienced through the lens of silence that only a still-sleeping-world can provide: the rustling of leaves in the soft Spring breeze – nature’s wind chime; the scratching of a possum’s claws on the asphalt as he scampered (safely) across the street likely aware that the darkness he covets would soon be giving way to the light; the babble of a nearby stream as it happily chased its tail across ever-smoothing stones; the faint rumble of distant thunder; the piercing eyes of a mother racoon reflecting back the light of my disturbingly too bright headlamp; a low-hanging nest full of newborn baby birds already clamoring for their first meal of the day; a commune of sand cranes lined up along the edge of a moon-lit lake shaking the sleep from their eyes and bantering with each other no doubt about the day ahead – to mention just a few.
I have a vague recollection of doing it decades ago, when sleep was more elusive and less important (or so I had convinced myself) than it seems to be these days. What I can’t recall, however, is ever being able to quiet the cacophony of voices in my busy brain - coaxing, taunting me to “do more,” “do better,” “do faster” - long enough to allow me the space and tranquility I needed to see and feel the subtleties of it all. But, today I did and I’m grateful, because – in the pause – I was able to stop (repeatedly) and breathe in the palpable sense of anticipation, eagerness, bordering on urgency, curiosity, and expectation oozing from all the living things around me as they stood poised to greet a new day: the almost-budding flowers that line the sidewalks; the jonesing-for-their-morning-stretch-in-the-sun roots, limbs, and leaves of 100 year old oaks and pines; the piston-legged hawk perched anxiously on a nearby streetlamp, perhaps hoping its light will provide a head start on his search for breakfast; the lake life – all of it – the quacking and croaking, swimming and soaking, bathing and feeding; and the wildlife too numerous to mention here all seemed, rather impatiently, to want a piece of whatever the new day had to offer – and soon they would have it.
“You seldom allow yourself the grace to experience moments like this anymore,” I thought to myself as I continued on. But, today I did and I’m glad, because with it came a soul-shifting realization: Ever since I was a child, I’ve equated darkness – real and metaphorical - with emptiness, aloneness, the absence of light and life, a place that is cold and unwelcoming, as something to be feared, approached with trepidation, or avoided https://tinyurl.com/2rumj35j – a space where danger lurks. This morning offered a very different, far more life-affirming perspective: As deep and impenetrable as the darkness was at times, there was no mistaking the fact that it was teeming with life, with energy, with anticipation, with a sense of breaking through, with hopefulness. Under the moon’s soft and reassuring glow, far from the harshness of the mid-day sun and the deafening noise of the world awake, darkness was serving a purpose: It was providing cover – and a moment’s peace - for all of creation to catch its breath, to replenish, regroup, restore, and renourish, a staging area for the next installment in “A New Day” - a wildly unpredictable, always engaging docudrama that, in a matter of minutes, would be opening in theaters everywhere – and it was indescribably beautiful.
As I turned the corner and started home, I passed what appeared to be a couple of friends lost in mindless conversation about yesterday’s news and, moments later, a well-suited young man in a luxury sedan speeding anxiously to work to no doubt try and tackle today’s. I wanted to freeze time, to scream, “STOP! You need to see this! You’re missing it – the moment, the magic!” And, then I thought about all the days I’d missed it too – walked, ran, or driven right by it without giving it a second thought, let alone the awe it deserves - 23,624 to be exact. But, today I didn’t. Today, I stopped and, because I did, I will never look at darkness – in any of its forms - the same again.
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