Hot coffee in hand. Leather-bound journal, and pen. The candle is lit for my predawn meditation. I lean out into the world and think of all the people who never spend time in this way; who never slow down enough to see anything clearly. As Saint Augustine said: "People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering."
My thoughts run today toward the sorrow of unlived lives. The people we could have been, might have been, wanted to be...if only something or someone somewhere along the way hadn't jacked us up...if only we'd been encouraged to live free, given half a chance to dare to believe...if only...
What is your "If only..."? What is your unlived life?
I'm reminded of the words of George Eliot, so simple and profound they inspired the dedication at the start of my novel, Waymaker: "It's never too late to be who you might have been." I dare to believe that is true, new every morning.
The light of morn is still not upon me, but I know the clouds are there, holding their collective breath, their artful forms waiting to be awakened by the gold warmth of dawn. They declare the glory of God regardless of who is watching. They do not care whether you see them. But still, they need the sun's fire to give them life, to make them dance.
May you feel the heat of God today, awakening your soul to the life that might yet be yours.
After the hiccup
18 hours ago