Isn’t that a simply delicious word?
This morning as I look out upon the day, it is grey, quiet, and plain,
really. The trees in my woods are
still more brown than green.
The yard and the potential gardens are more lackluster than robust.
The traditional tribes of birds feed on the sunflower seeds, my neighbors
go to work, and Chloe barks at the squirrels. If someone were to take a photo of me
in this moment, I would not look like a glamour girl, and my life from a larger
perspective is meager by many standards.
But, this day is fine with me. This state of ordinary is a gift. Ordinary promotes presence.
If you think of bright, bright sunlight… it can make it very hard to
see. Similarly, darkness cloaks the
world around us and our eyes beg for the ability to see through it.
Grey, however, opens sight.
There is nothing difficult about a day that is hushed in grey light. We can perceive small details that
neither darkness nor bright light allow.
And this is true for ordinary living.
Oh, we love those gloriously fabulous days when some spark of joy or
unexpected pleasure greets us.
We love times when we feel special and unique… when we are valued as rare and
precious. Somehow in our American
culture, we want to be always be better, and when we feel we have arrived at
better… we feel better.
Gloriously
fabulous days keep us searching for more, which is not necessarily negative, but
not always the healthiest or wisest way to live.
Dark days are dreaded days. We learn of illness, ours or someone we
love. We lose jobs.
We lose money. We lose
people we cherish. The earth
shakes, the sea roars, and some days it literally feels like the sky is
falling. We cry.
We shout. We mourn. We fight the odds with all of our
might, and yet, the day remains dark.
Dark days keep us searching for something more, which is not necessarily,
negative, but not always the healthiest or wisest way to
live.
Ordinary days invite us to be here, not there. Ordinary days
hold out to us what is neither past nor future (or perhaps what is past and
future). It all rests here,
doesn’t it? Isn’t all of whatever
was and will be here in our hearts and minds and souls today?
Isn’t the most spectacular day and the most tragic being blessed in the
living of the ordinary one?
I’ll not blow whistles for today, nor will I ignore it. I plan to simply offer thanks and live
into what is alive. Ordinary days keep us here, closer to our purest selves,
which is a really good way to live.
This morning as I look out upon the day, it is grey, quiet, and plain,
really. The trees in my woods are
still more brown than green.
The yard and the potential gardens are more lackluster than robust.
The traditional tribes of birds feed on the sunflower seeds, my neighbors
go to work, and Chloe barks at the squirrels. If someone were to take a photo of me
in this moment, I would not look like a glamour girl, and my life from a larger
perspective is meager by many standards.
But, this day is fine with me. This state of ordinary is a gift. Ordinary promotes presence.
If you think of bright, bright sunlight… it can make it very hard to
see. Similarly, darkness cloaks the
world around us and our eyes beg for the ability to see through it.
Grey, however, opens sight.
There is nothing difficult about a day that is hushed in grey light. We can perceive small details that
neither darkness nor bright light allow.
And this is true for ordinary living.
Oh, we love those gloriously fabulous days when some spark of joy or
unexpected pleasure greets us.
We love times when we feel special and unique… when we are valued as rare and
precious. Somehow in our American
culture, we want to be always be better, and when we feel we have arrived at
better… we feel better.
Gloriously
fabulous days keep us searching for more, which is not necessarily negative, but
not always the healthiest or wisest way to live.
Dark days are dreaded days. We learn of illness, ours or someone we
love. We lose jobs.
We lose money. We lose
people we cherish. The earth
shakes, the sea roars, and some days it literally feels like the sky is
falling. We cry.
We shout. We mourn. We fight the odds with all of our
might, and yet, the day remains dark.
Dark days keep us searching for something more, which is not necessarily,
negative, but not always the healthiest or wisest way to
live.
Ordinary days invite us to be here, not there. Ordinary days
hold out to us what is neither past nor future (or perhaps what is past and
future). It all rests here,
doesn’t it? Isn’t all of whatever
was and will be here in our hearts and minds and souls today?
Isn’t the most spectacular day and the most tragic being blessed in the
living of the ordinary one?
I’ll not blow whistles for today, nor will I ignore it. I plan to simply offer thanks and live
into what is alive. Ordinary days keep us here, closer to our purest selves,
which is a really good way to live.
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