A Mantra Worthy Of Our Memory
There is something tender about the time just before 7am.
Or maybe it is that this mild morning, I am tender. From sleeping poorly, from giving my attention to things that don’t deserve my attention, from being stuck in a rut.
The sky is changing fast, sun summiting in the east over the harbor, fog burning itself off.
As I walk down the brick sidewalk, a man gets out of a car. He holds a coffee cup and pauses in the street, staring up. In an instant, the sky has shifted and we are both standing somewhat dazed in a warm yellow light.
Those clouds are really moving, the man says to me in a soft voice. It’s making everything golden.
I smile and nod, continue walking.
But the light won’t stop shifting. At this intersection, it casts light the color of cantaloupe over the damp city. By the time I get to the next intersection, everything is held in a pink glow. The sky is begging to be looked at.
And if ever there was a mantra worth a place in our memory, it is only this: Look up. Up from the brick sidewalk, up from the things that don’t deserve our attention, and up from our stuckness. Look up at the tender world that holds our tender selves and know that it, like us, won’t stop shifting.
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