I woke up on Sunday and wrote this in my journal. It's like a blog post, but on paper. Here's the online version.
I'm sitting up in my bed on Sunday morning. My light is off and the blinds are drawn shut, and yet the crack in the blinds lets in a few odd spots of light. Not the stack of parallel lines one would expect, but a few irregular blobs.
I was sitting there thinking, almost meditating with my eyes open, my mind rested and clear, my body calm.
I gazed at one of the shapes of light, directly ahead, and mused that one of them looked like a dinosaur...like a baby cartoon T-Rex. And I was just enjoying looking at the thing. A pleasant, ambient light starting to fill the room, and this one shape in front of me.
And as I stared at it, I began to notice the light that gave it shape was changing - not the shape itself, but its composition. Irregular lines and mixed patterns slowly panned left across the dinosaur's outline. It was like the film in an old movie, where the frames move across. I thought maybe my eyes were just adjusting, but I knew it wasn't my imagination. I could clearly make out the variance of light. And I surmised that there must have been clouds passing overhead, pushed by south or southwest winds...and the puffs of moisture and particles were chugging along, filtering the light passing through my window.
I considered for a moment that it could have been tree leaves affecting the light, but the movement was constant, smooth and never repeated. The ever-changing pattern was moving left the whole time. Which meant that this must have been a spot unobstructed by any branch...the sunlight was going through directly. I started looking around at other blobs of light and noticed an amalgamation a few feet away. I saw one had tiny shade spots dancing back-and-forth, swishing across the backdrop of light quickly.
Ah, the leaves. There they are.
This whole spectacle on a lazy Sunday morning made me appreciate the small beauty around me. I say small, but it's really quite big.
I mean, think about it. This little light show in my room, which I would normally miss because I was rushing or cranky or too busy, could occur because a giant star, which is a burning ball of gas 93,000,000 miles away, sends light that travels a mere eight minutes to get to our planet, which gets filtered through our atmosphere and the ozone layer, and finds its way through a break in my blinds into the bedroom where I am. But not before having to cross a line of clouds slowly crawling across the sky like a row of taxis inching along the freeway. And the interplay between this caravan of clouds and the rays of sun is what creates the funny moving picture in front of me. And I get to enjoy it in the comfort of my own pajamas.
The world around us has a magical quality to it, and if we stop to notice and enjoy, we give ourselves a chance to be filled with wonder. And connecting with this wonder is the only way to have a chance to have a wonder-ful life in a wonder-ful world.
It's all around. And I bet you'll feel wonderful when you stop to enjoy it, too.