Give this some contemplative time to reflect and consider: How will you invest your irreplaceable light of today?
Yesterday morning I sat on my front porch and watched the
colors of sunrise which were indescribable. What would one call the light
coming off the clouds? The most gold rays hadn’t come through so it was
primarily a pure high note of color. I could use a metaphor of “invocation” if
I was feeling church-like. I could use a metaphor of “preface” in the next
great book to come, I could use the “prelude” from the Sound of Music if I was
having a musical theater morning.
None of those fit exactly, though, and my reverie was shaken by an upset Emma and the need to move beyond my porch and into the rest of my life.
It wasn’t until this morning, yesterday’s tomorrow, that I noted I hadn’t even sat at my keyboard since yesterday’s ripped from the porch reverie moments, trying to be super Mommy and wipe my child’s early frustration from the whiteboard of her day.
Twenty four hours had elapsed since I sat here and wrote a word.
I had texted and tweeted and photographed, but I hadn’t sat here in my chair and “spoken” to you, beloved reader.
Last night I watched the sunset, too. I noticed the different texture and tone of the goodbye of August 26 that was so different than the texture and tone of the hello of August 26. It was burnt orange and red the closer it got to its final word.
The initial descent had a similar vibe to the morning:
optimism still steadfast as I
clicked my first photo from the close-to-my-house
bluffs.
As it came closer to the horizon, the deeper more insistent colors took hold.
The sense of urgency now held the sun and held my eyes, “What have you done with me?” it asked.
“How have you invested these precious hours of light?”
Interesting, in retrospect, that yesterday was tangled up in
so many things other than writing, what I lovingly refer to as my anchor art.
I had, however, collected notes in my mind, as Miss Prism reminds us in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest, “Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about with us.”
How blessed am I to carry the memories of yesterday’s sunrise and sunset and deliver them back to you?
I think last night’s sunset is smiling, saying “Yes, you invested our moments well.” I did choose, after all, to experience both the sunrise and the sunset. Both transitions were brand new while also compellingly ancient in their retelling.
Maybe you are reading this after the light of one day has faded, in the respite of the darkness and waiting for your next day to arrive.
How will you invest (spend, use, empower, devote, endow) your irreplaceable hours of light?
Maybe your day is just beginning. The same holds true for you: How will you devote your irreplaceable hours of light?
For each and all of us: How will you use your irreplaceable hours of light?
The sum of your days and how you spend them lead, as always to, “How do you truly want to endow and empower your life?”
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