The Quiet Moments

The dawn or the end of the day is a quiet moment to reflect

Because life has slowed down a bit for me with no childcare issues and no caretaker responsibilities, I’m quite in tune with my quiet moments.

In the mornings, before I’m even fully aware, I offer gratitude and appreciation for opening my eyes to another day because I know it wasn’t promised to me. Many people go to sleep and do not wake up, and so I recognize that I am blessed to get to walk in this new day, to discover something I’ve never known or experience something I’ve never tried. Every day I wake up is a day for the impossible to happen.

If I’m not scheduled to teach, I’ll meditate, self-Reiki, and let my body know verbally how much I appreciate how it keeps me going throughout the day. We talk to plants, right? Why not talk to the body?

It's in the quiet moments that I plan for the day, the class, the week, my life. I hear myself fully.

I set my intentions before the “to-do lists” start to form in my brain. It will be a great class session. It will be an easy commute. I can look to have a moment of connection with a strange whether it’s a smile or an exchanged compliment. I think of what I want to see in the day and most of the time, it happens. My days become productive, not reactionary. Tasks are completed, errands are accomplished, and friends and family are checked upon. When intentions are set, my day runs smoother than when I do not set intentions.

In the evening, thanks and appreciation return in honor of the day that has concluded. Even things that happened outside of what I intended are appreciated and acknowledged. Nothing in life is random even if it seems like it is. I appreciate the random, the spontaneity of life because what’s life without a little whimsy. You can’t plan for it, but you should be open to it. I make way for spontaneity in my teaching, in my practice and in my everyday experience. For instance, if I’m going out and Spirit says, turn down this block or call so and so, or get off at this stop instead, I listen and I am rewarded.

I may find something I’d been looking for, speak to someone I was thinking about, or have a visceral experience in a small café I didn’t know existed. Whatever happens out of the ordinary, I’ve learned to accept it, enjoy it, and appreciate it.

It is in the quiet moments I examine my heart, my discipline to see where I can improve.

I’m not perfect. I still have a great deal to learn about how I operate and move in the world.

But when night falls and in the silence before sleep comes, I honor those family members I’ve lost, appreciate where I am in the moment, and promise myself that tomorrow will be better.