Each morning the sun rises in the eastern sky. Sometimes with a blast of brilliant color: scarlet red, marigold orange, deep purple, and strokes of bright yellow. Other times, with just a hint of violet or buttery beige. This morning I was treated to a blast of color I had not seen in months.
Still in my jammies, I opened the front door and gazed up at the eastern sky watching the colors shift and change from a bloodshot red to fiery orange, then soften into a pink garden, ending with a touch of gold. Quietly magnificent. A new day.
There’s something magical about watching a spectacular sunrise. It puts things in perspective, reminding me of the bigger picture. Psychologists claim that watching the sun rise releases a surge of dopamine in the brain which is responsible for feelings of pleasure and happiness. I don’t know if this is true, but the splendor of those moments has stayed with me all day and has helped me let go of minor details. So, what if I didn’t wash that window or my car? Does social media really matter?
It reminds me of watching a sunrise once with an elderly Buddhist monk. I was young then, full of energy and questions, impatient, and impulsive; eager to get things done or move on to the next project. We both happened to be in the same place at the same time, outside a monastery waiting for something, I can’t remember now what it was. The sun had not yet risen. He stood there; eyes focused on the horizon without saying a word.
I on the other hand was chatting away. “Oh, where are you from?” No answer. “What does the color of your robes mean?” No answer. “It’s a little chilly this morning, don’t you think?” No answer.
I finally gave up and turned my gaze to the sky. It was incredible. Hues of red, carrot orange, and pink streaked across the sky. I lost my tongue until there was just a pale hint of yellow.
Before I could say anything, the monk spoke. “I think you now understand.”
Instead of using my words I just nodded. Everything felt whole. My problems and petty issues vanished and all that mattered was standing there with that monk watching the sky. I don’t know how long I stood there but the monk was gone before I could thank him.
I’m unsure if I’ve described the beauty of that moment well enough. Perhaps I never will.
Sometimes there are no words…
Enjoy the passage of time.
© 2023. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved