The early morning sunlight was shining on my neighbor’s barn. It was just a few minutes after sunrise, and the light was especially full and bright.
The small upper windows on the barn caught my attention. I’ve seen them before, but I’d never really seen them.
Now that they were highlighted by the rising sun, I noticed them in detail. I noticed where they were in relationship to the other elements of the barn. I wondered what it would be like to be way up there, looking out.
I wonder how many things I walk by every day, without ever really noticing them, until something about them catches my attention.
How much of my world am I missing? I’m sure that there is so much richness and depth that I am not seeing.
This, to me, is the richness of presence. When I’m fully present, rather than moving through my life on auto-pilot, I do notice a lot more depth and breadth and color and form, because I am there for it. I take more of my life in.
This way of presence is a way of being that I aspire to. It isn’t automatic for me yet. I’ve spent too much of my life moving from one thing to the next, missing the in-betweens.
This has all been well-intended, of course. I’ve lived my life largely aiming for our Western standards of production, output, and achievement. I’ve spent so many years focused on the next thing; that’s what has become automatic.
And now the transition to living the way of presence is oddly uncomfortable. What if I lose my sense of focus? How can I trust that all will get done? How do I even know that enough will get done?
Paradoxically, I think I will gain a real sense of focus, a focus in the present moment.
What will be possible then?
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