A ray of morning sunlight caught my eye. It fell through the window, soft as a whisper, and lit the geraniums on the windowsill from behind in a way that made the leaves look almost transparent, the colour of the petals glowing a deep velvety red.

You know that moment, when it pierces you, when it wipes you clean, so that you can SEE. And for a brief spell, the fullness of seeing floods everything, your being, your whole existence.

It happens in an instant. Like remembering something incredibly important that you weren’t even aware you had forgotten. Like being let inside when you’ve spent so long outside, going numb from the cold.

The sense of rightness, of ease. Shoulders coming down. Tears in my eyes, because this. All of it. Thank you.

Most of the time I don’t even notice. I brush past this moment, because I am on the hunt for a more important one. Surely there is a more important one coming up than me standing here, watching geraniums on the windowsill, and surely I would do better to focus on it, prepare for it, strive to get there sooner.

Only that moment won’t be much different from this one, and when I “get there”, likely I will brush past that one too.

Sometimes it hits me, full force. This is truly all we ever have. The moments.

This moment, the way my body feels in this moment. Am I comfortable, standing here? Am I breathing, am I open?

Can I just BE with it. Whatever is in front of me. Whatever is inside of me.

Wanted or not, can I just stay with it. Receive it. Respond to it.

Leave the big stuff aside for a moment, because look close enough and there is no big stuff. Only one moment after another. Each one ripe with its own particular quality, its own language, its own invitation.

Like this moment right here, by the windowsill, watching the translucent green of the budding geraniums in the morning sun.



As Seen On