Sitting quietly

I have three or four books on my Kindle written by Tai Sheridan, a Buddhist.  I think perhaps Christians are scared away by the word "Buddhist", but his writings are helpful for anyone.  Here's what he says about meditation in his little book, Buddha in Blue Jeans:  "No belief.  No program.  No dogma.  You do not have to be Buddhist.  You can be of any faith, religion, race, nationality, gender, relationship status, or capacity.  Just sit quietly..."

Thanks to my reading these words this morning, when I stepped out into a breezy, unseasonably warm day with flashlight in hand to feed the cats, I noticed in the east the makings of a beautiful sunrise  It was the sort of view that would normally have sent me for my camera in order to catch the sky at it's most beautiful so I could take pictures and share them on Facebook for my friends to "like".  Because don't we sometimes feel as if the more likes people give our status updates, the more they like us?  This isn't a conscious thought I ever had until just now, but I do believe it's in my psyche someplace.

I did not go after my camera.  Instead, I grabbed a lawn chair, went to the back yard where the lights from the neighbors' yards couldn't distract me and took a seat.  I faced the barely-started sunrise and sat in silence until the light-pinks in the still-dark sky turned to a bright coral, almost red fire that stretched from the northeast to southeast, a large enough area that a camera would never have taken in half the panorama before me.

And then I wrote a poem.

TODAY I WATCHED THE SUN RISE

Donna Wood 12/10/2015

I sat and watched the sun rise as I started on my day,

No IPad at my fingertips to draw my gaze away.

I cherished in my spirit all the grandeur of the sky

And sat in tranquil silence as the minutes drifted by.

I might have taken pictures I could share with all my friends,

But size and scope are hindered by a camera's tiny lens.

I felt the breeze upon my face, my inner calm unbroken.

Some things are better held within and reverenced, unspoken.