It’s a lovely morning so far. My coffee is hot, and not at all bitter. My clothes feel comfortable and fit well. I woke lacking the usual headache, and my arthritis pain is well-managed and not troubling me. The day begins gently, and the day before ended gently, with love. Seems pretty perfect…
…I’m very groggy.
Perfectly imperfect…enjoying the moment that is, unconcerned about what isn’t.
I sit here with my tasty coffee, contemplating this lovely morning; it is ‘perfect’ without being unflawed. Quite a nice morning…I am, however, seriously struggling to really wake up. It’s not a bother today, but I can feel echoes of other mornings, when the frustration of not fully waking up as quickly as usual eventually drove sufficient irritability to throw a pleasant morning off course. This is not that sort of morning; it is ‘perfectly imperfect’ and I am content.
A picture perfect spring day. Who defines perfection?
The ‘search for happiness’ has often seriously confounded my ability to actually experience happiness. I’ve found myself feeling happy, even for prolonged periods, most often when I wasn’t looking for it, wasn’t chasing it, instead investing my time and will into being and doing on other levels that result rather commonly in the experience of happiness. Like trying to watch the horizon at night, it seems to be most effective when I’m doing something else entirely.
There’s not much more to say this morning… It’s a lovely morning to experience the morning that is, and savor each sweet moment as-is, no demands, no criteria, no negotiation, no picking it apart to make more or less of it… just this timeless precious now, enjoyed exactly as it is.
It’s enough.
Evening Light 