Ode to this morning light.
“The Unknown is not the future but the present. “ ~ J Krishnamurti
The stealthy, radiant sun quietly let itself into my back garden door this morning as I lay in bed. It crept across the carpet, paused at the couch to explore its patinated and faded blue velvet, and moved on to illuminate the room object by object. It played upon the crystalline white marble Buddha and the blindfolded musician statue and passed on to reveal the other denizens crouched in the corners. It poked the pillows softly, danced about joyfully, and, as I lay there, streamed into my room, found the mirrored doors of a dear old French armoire beside my bed, and suddenly sprinkled my face and eyes directly with its piercing light. It lingered “long and long,” as Walt Whitman said of his ‘Specimen Days’. One lay there in mute reflection, marveled and struck by this sublime morning guest. All the world was startling, brilliant, and beautiful. And it remains so even as those golden rays have now moved over and out of the room. I rose and began this day, dazzled and delighted by this heavenly touch, and grateful to see and be, this mystery; to know that one IS this light. This love, loving. 😊
There is no singer, only the song. In deeply listening, there is active learning, and peace, beauty, wonder and delight.
