This past month, I’ve blogged for you, first predicting the future, and more recently reflecting on my past days in Burma. As we celebrate May Day today, Labor Day in many Asian countries, and one where the Communist Flay is displayed in Laos where I am at the moment, I’d like to switch gears, and post in the present with the interspersing of reflections. Now that Burma is behind me, and I’m onto the “Beyond” part of my trip, I’ll be posting in Real Time. Any of you who are following this blog on my own FB (which is public under Susan Reynolds) will have experienced the time travel already, as my posts often reflect the past and the present in the same day! Thus:
My ideal morning practice has always included a combination of meditation, yoga and writing. Those mornings after the triad of presence, I feel ready to start the day. It’s all the better if I do these three things before getting on the phone or computer, but that may be a lofty goal, as I still find myself struggling as the “Tech Addicted Yogi,” though it’s gotten better.
After spending so many amazing mornings standing on the ledges of temples, on the white sand of a beach, or atop a mountain housing a pagoda, intentionally waiting for the sun to rise, a morning without it feels incomplete. What if watching the sunrise were part of a daily ritual, even if it’s cloudy or raining? The sun is still there. It’s always there, and in yoga, that is something to remember as we practice. No matter how we are feeling, how many thoughts and masks are covering our innate selves, we are still there. Yoga is often about uncovering those layers that hide our essence. By waiting for the sun to rise, perhaps we are honoring that unchangeable spirit within.
When I went to Wisdom 2.0 last year, we learned about the power of “Awe,” at a Facebook pre-conference workshop. The day included the latest research on happiness and gratitude, which I was aware of, but I hadn’t ever considered the implications of awe. Awe takes us out of ourselves, out of our individual lives, problems, and concerns, and shows us that we are a part of something so much greater. A California Redwood Tree, the enormity of the Grand Canyon, the vista atop a Temple in Bagan, or the reflection of the rising sun on the Gulf of Thailand. These are the major ones, but what about the everyday?
A sunrise sitting at the tip of Egg Rock after a morning walk in Concord. The sun rising over the Bay Bridge when I’m meditating in Mom and Dad’s family room. The rays of sun appearing through my window at Brookside Square. The sun’s warmth and strength on a cold, cloudy and blustery day even though I can’t see it. It’s still there.
Thus I’ve added the sun to my repertoire, whether I am perched to see it, or simply meditating on my cushion. Thus #SunriseEveryDamnDay.