On a Saturday Morning

Delhi Airport
Delhi Airport

What is it like as the sun rises early and the world is quiet?

The painter’s palette of a morning sky, in pinks and purples and yellows, and the snow slumbers carefully under a dawning warm day. This winter has been unexpectedly warm, and my son has skied nonetheless.

There was the flurry of excitement, buying what we need, preparing for the people to arrive. Tonight, we will gather, celebrate those who have passed, their artistic qualities, their contributions to the world.

And what, may I ask, is yours?

On any given day, it’s a question I ask myself, you know. What am I here for? What is the ultimate EvSeekInsideYoupurpose of our existence?

And then, I swept the ego aside and did the unthinkable: have compassion for an embittered soul, doing the right thing, if not the easy thing.

We humans are complex and confusing. We want what we want when we want it and think that’s perfectly fine.

And yet, there are people sitting on cold streets in every nation of the world, begging for a few coins to maintain their existence.

There are people sleeping under blankets, in back alleys, on the pavement, while we walk briskly past, hoping we don’t see, praying not to see.

Two years ago right now, I was in India for the very first time. What an adjustment that arrival was – a world away, and the glossy airport with its open hand configurations, that’s art you know, representative of yoga and deep thinking and ancient practice.

Through customs, we were free to go wherever, but it was daunting, and so we were guided to each destination.

GoldenTempleNightEDIT On the train platform in the early morning, Amritsar, you need to learn to stand in your power, then no one will approach you. There were beggars and amputees puttering in the aisle of first class on that train, first class with the bullet hole in the window and the hole in the floor of the bathroom to go when you had to. Eight hours is a long time to ride.

Me, hiking in the Himalayan foothills
Me, hiking in the Himalayan foothills

I hiked up the rocky pathway of a Himalayan foothill, to a waterfall where people swam and called in their native languages. So many languages. So many people come here.

Did I appreciate it, like I do today’s sunrise? I believe I did.

But we stand where we are at this moment and reflect the glass-half-full because that is the way of the human, and what a pity it is indeed.

Right now, right this moment, right here where I stand, it’s perfect. I know that. You know that. We hardly focus on it, though.

What I don’t have does not matter. What I yearn for, how my life isn’t quite what I had hoped, the imperfections that exist all around us, none of it matters. None if it is real.

I was told recently about the filter through which I see the world. A tad melancholy. It made sense. Felt familiar.

But why?

Our human condition renders us blinded by our very humanness, and we don’t see what we really should be seeing.

Last night, I did something I could not have done years ago. I took the high road. I put an issue to bed without worry of losing face.

It was freeing.

So this is a shard of what it is to live in enlightenment. I’m sold.

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