Upon Waking: December 14 - 20

The season repeats and is not the same. 

The day repeats and is not the same. 

The breath repeats and is not the same.

Beginnings and endings appear like opposites 

and yet one is needed for the other. 

Each contains the other. 

Sometimes there are moments of insight and clarity 

and probably more often uncertainty and unknowing.

Even in the midst of terrible disaster, 

there is the calm before the storm 

and stillness in the eye of the hurricane, 

places of refuge in the cleft of the mountain 

and under the fallen tree. 

Chaos and solace exist side by side. 

Beauty and birth are found 

in the shadows of death and loss.

I may delight in the playful days of summer 

but I am learning much in the bleak midwinter. 

I try to hold all of it 

but just slowly glimpsing 

all of it is holding me.

Practice

Recently I discovered a new time and place to meditate. Yes, I still love contemplating nature and sitting in a favorite chair during the day but I'm developing the habit of lingering in the space between sleep and awake. My typical custom is to jump out of bed and head directly into the day. These mornings, however, I'm spending a few extra moments under the blankets as awareness just begins to dawn. Rather than ticking off the demands of the upcoming day, I keep my eyes closed and try to remember any lessons that arose during the quiet hours of the night. I ponder in this liminal space for a minute or two to see if anything surfaces. I listen deeply to my intuition. I then slowly open my eyes in appreciation for the gift of the new day. I say a prayer as a stretch my legs from the bed to the floor that I may walk upon the earth with kindness and respect.

I recommend this practice upon waking.