the window had been decorated
A few weeks ago we received a notice from the power company warning of a Monday morning power outage due to scheduled maintenance. A short window was given from nine o’clock in the morning until about noon, during which time people in our neighborhood were encouraged to make plans to be elsewhere. I received the notice with a frown at first, noting that Monday was my day off and I wouldn’t be able to get as much done while the power was out. How would I answer e-mails, run the washing machine, and so on? No sooner had I begun to ask these questions than a wave of excitement washed over me.
When the morning in question rolled around, I was prepared. After the early routine of breakfast and school drop-off, I arrived at home, where I brewed a fresh pot of coffee before the power went out. As the steam rose from the percolating machine, large utility trucks pulled up at the curb outside. At nine o’clock on the nose, the lights went out, the digital clocks faded to black, and the house descended into a sublime silence. I poured a fresh cup of coffee and walked into the living room where I sat on a quiet patch of carpet by the window. There in the natural light I simply looked and listened. I heard the wind stirring the branches, the whistle and chirp of birds in the back yard, and the sound of my own breathing. I remembered the words of the old Zen monk, “Breathing in, I am home; breathing out, I have arrived.”
The morning without power was strangely restorative. Rather than rushing around as I sometimes do on my day off, I accepted the invitation to do nothing for a couple of hours. Well, at least on the surface of things I was doing nothing. To look a bit deeper, I think, is to see that I was grounding myself in gratitude (counting my blessings, as they say). In the hush of the morning, I considered all that was right in my life. I thought of my dear family and how much joy they bring me; I thought of my friends and the ways our paths had crossed at different times in life; I thought of how much I still love my work after many years; I thought of the simple good fortune of having warm coffee, a soft rug, and a window to sit beside.
Since next week is a short week, I suspect this will be my last blog post before Thanksgiving. I offer this story as a way of countering the great consumptive pressure of the holidays with the simple awareness of the gifts we already enjoy. I invite you to share the things for which you give thanks. And I invite you to share the practices that help you slow things down enough to see and hear what is already there.
With aloha,
J
*Thanks to Vassar Miller for this expression from her poem, “Resolve.”
5 comments
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November 16, 2011 at 3:24 am
sarakeck
when the electricity was out at school, we held class in the hallways and outside. it was ‘enlightening’ to see how much learning still went on without technology. though it would’ve been harder for me to pull off my lesson had I not been able to make copies earlier in the day …
November 16, 2011 at 7:24 pm
David R
Coffee and quiet. An opportunity to hear the bird cries and the sound of the breeze in the leaves. The experience of a familiar back yard, made slightly strange by the absence of mechanical noise from the neighbor’s air conditioner and the washing machine in the house. I’d seek that out often, if it could be found…
November 16, 2011 at 11:38 pm
Jeff N.
I do not do well at finding quiet. But am always very grateful for friends and family and this surprising life. And this week am especially grateful for all the medical technology that keeps me going after years of taking insulin. Technology and I have a long and complicated relationship.
November 17, 2011 at 5:30 pm
Jane Schorre
Am reminded of the message of my teacher, Brother David Steindl-Rast, in Gratefulness, the Heart Of Prayer.
From summary notes made years ago:
Awakening is the starting point of gratefulness. The moment we wake up from taking things for granted, our eyes are open to surprise. And through surprise our inner eyes are opened to the amazing fact that everything is gratuitous. The surprise of a rainbow brings with it a sense of the gratuitousness of all there is.
Could gratefulness ever become our basic attitude toward life? Moments of surprise want to teach us the great truth that everything is gift. The degree to which we are awake to this truth is the measure of our gratefulness. And gratefulness is the measure of our aliveness. For those who awaken to life through surprise, death lies behind, not ahead.
And, by the way, this reminds me of my son’s comment after a service at Emerson Unitarian church concerning the afterlife, as we did Sunday. Tim said, “Don’t they know this IS the afterlife?”
November 18, 2011 at 7:12 pm
Andrea Frolic
I too have been bathed in the hush this week, but not a hush of my own choosing. I am recovering from surgery last week and have not left the upper story of my home since arriving here on Saturday. The kids are at school and I can feel life bustling beyond my window, as I’m ensconced under my covers. The hush feels alternately like a prison and like an open sun-lit field. The choice to stop, to pay attention and feel grateful is everything. Sometimes I feel like I can make that choice, other times I’m just mad and bored. But there is a vase of lilies on my dresser–they open a little more everyday to the sunlight in the room; they are my mentors in gratuitousness.