When I take a moment and tilt my gaze toward my surroundings, I am always startled by what I witness. I caught this recent sunset a few weeks ago and loved how the sky shaped its palette. The colors trickled into one another and blended together in a way that makes you pause and adore the universe. This admiration didn’t take much effort. All it took is looking up at the sky and taking a moment to consider what is outside of my immediate periphery.
I caught the next view on my way out of dinner with my daughter on a weeknight. As we exited the restaurant, we talked and, again, my eyes gravitated toward the glory of the palm trees and the mix of blues and yellows highlighting the evening sky. I felt the awe of my surroundings and acknowledged the convenience of not having to travel or hunt to seek this kind of beauty. What choice did I have but to bow my head in gratitude?
Several of these kind of whispers continued throughout the week. While I ran in the afternoon, a deep pink stumbled along my pathway, asking for me to pay attention. The center sprouted in a way to amplify both strength and fragility of the petals. I paused, capturing the bloom of spring.This particular flower engraved the earth, declaring its magnificence in a way I couldn’t ignore. What does this mean? I must continue to gaze at what is in front of me. Sometimes it is easy to lose my way, especially when I prioritize noise over solitude, busyness over quiet and restlessness over stillness. These natural reminders push me to refocus my perspective and realize the clarity of the present.
This month I spent some time at a local Japanese friendship garden and documented the swirls of the water against the grey rocks. Each ripple is a layer, a complication or another place to unearth. As much as the water moved, it also stayed still. I stood, mesmerized, not knowing what to make of this particular active painting. It let me to a place of wonder – the idea that this safe haven is present in the middle of the desert.
The week finished with an eye catching sunset of the mountains serenading the sky, while the trees took vigil, witnessing the brilliant yellows and pinks. I stood watching with a full heart, thinking of one of my favorite quotes by Rumi: “There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground; there are a thousand ways to go home again.” Indeed, this is the case, if we decide to pay attention to what is right in front of us.