The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. The going around keeps going around, and the coming around seems slow to arrive, but inevitably will come around. The grains of sand in our mortal hourglass keep trickling away. It is another new day, another new week, and another series of imminent moments to live, to savor, and to remember later.
… What will you do with your finite precious moments, today….?
Me? I’m starting with a walk. The trail is dark, and it rained through the night. The neighborhood that surrounds this trail is quiet. The darkness is illuminated by occasional lights, and the quiet is interrupted by the distant hum and whir of HVAC systems. Humanity exists here. I sigh and keep walking. “Peace and quiet” is relative, I guess.
I slept well and deeply. The weekend of much needed rest was a worthwhile deviation from more typical weekends, when I commonly swap “gainful employment” for the greatly appreciated, but wholly unpaid, domestic labor of errand running, housekeeping, grocery shopping, and caregiving. I’m both grateful and relieved that my Traveling Partner needs so little caregiving now, at all. As his capabilities around the house with day-to-day tasks continue to improve, my ability to cover “everything else” (more or less, most of the time) also improves. The shared effort is a quality of life improvement, and made it possible to just set stuff aside this past weekend and relax. I can’t easily describe how much more rested and able to focus I feel this morning. I definitely needed that restful time.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, smiling to myself and enjoy the lingering feeling of being loved.
The world looks different before daybreak.
I walked the wet trail carefully in the darkness. It is slick with wet leaves, and dotted with puddles. I playfully stomp through a puddle or two before a grown up sense of safety vs hazards catches up with my sense of whimsy. I slip, just once, nearly falling because I carelessly stomped a puddle that was full of slippery leaves. I catch myself, feeling a brief moment of embarrassment, although I’m alone on the trail this morning.
I get to my halfway point and stop to take in the scene, rest a moment, write and meditate. It has become a cherished routine. It begins to rain, softly, and I am grateful for the tree cover that keeps me mostly dry. Chilly morning, too, I think to myself. I’m grateful for the fleece over my sweater, and its warm deep pockets.
… Monday…
I’ve got no particular sorrow or stress over a Monday, these days. A work day is a work day. I smile in the darkness. I sit enjoying the moment. I’m ready for whatever is next, as the wheel continues to turn. I’m ready to begin again.
I got to the trailhead early. Before the sun. Before dawn. Before daybreak. In the chilly darkness of an autumn morning, a mist gathers, moving up from the lowlands of the marsh and the riverbank. A slim crescent moon rises, looking like a single half-closed eye in watchful meditation, above the mist.
Predawn darkness at the trailhead.
It is a good time for thinking and for meditation. As the moon rises, I reflect on useful ideas I have picked up along my journey, each uniquely worthy of guiding me on my way, like sign posts, or streetlights. I take a moment to jot them down, carefully putting them in alphabetical order for no particular reason.
Amor Fati is, for me, a useful idea in spite of my lack of conviction with regard to the possibility that anything at all is or is not “fated” to be as it is. For me it carries a sense of recognizing that circumstances are what they are in some moment, and allowing (encouraging) a certain sense of acceptance, generally, and living within an accepting context, on life’s journey. I don’t carry any sense that I am “doomed” to some particular outcome – change is – only that even in the midst of change, acceptance can provide a comfortable foundation to rest upon, before beginning again.
Gnothi Seaton – know thyself – an idea with so much history behind it, it’s hard to call it an eye-opening realization. Seriously, though? How can we change who we are, if we don’t know who we are? How can we grow to become the person we most want to be, if we don’t know who that even is? How can we live our values, if we don’t have a clear understanding of what we do value?
Gratitude as a practice has become incredibly important to me. It’s one of several practices I practice that is built on a simple idea. In this case, the simple idea is that gratitude tends to crowd out anger and similar negative emotions, creating a more positive experience of life, even in stressful times. Gratitude helps build emotional resilience and reframes difficult experiences in terms that tend to promote peace, compassion, and understanding. Gratitude also feels good and satisfies something within me.
Ichi-go Ichi-e is the unrepeatable, unique nature of each precious finite moment, and is a particularly powerful idea for me. Each singular moment of our mortal lifetime is also another opportunity to begin again, to do better, and to be more present.
Impermanence is one of those ideas that has layers of meaning and usefulness. I meditate on impermanence often. Change is. However reliably certain some condition or experience seems, change itself is more reliable and more certain. We are mortal creatures, living our short lives in a finite universe of constant change. Impermanence is the sort of idea that can cause a person tremendous anxiety – or heal it, depending, I suppose, on how it it viewed, and whether it is accepted.
Memento Mori is an interesting idea, a reflection on mortality, a reminder that our time is brief, and that our mortal life will inevitably end. There is (as of 2025) no escaping death. Will the life we choose to live be worth our efforts? Will we be remembered – and for what? Life itself is characterized by impermanence, and our journey is the only destination we have, as the grains of the sands of time trickle through the hourglass. Even knowing that – maybe especially knowing that – we live and choose and grow and continue one day after the next, until the days run out. Which they definitely will.
Non-attachment, like several of these ideas, is associated with Buddhism, and other religions that value contemplative and meditative practices. It is a caution against clinging to expectations, desires, or worldly things. It is the face of a coin for which impermanence is the reverse. When we embrace change and refrain from clinging to some specific outcome, we free ourselves from a lot of drama, sorrow, struggle, and emotional pain. It goes hand in hand with ideas like “letting small shit stay small” and walking away from unpleasant (or damaging) people or experiences.
Vita Contemplativa is the inverse of Vita Activa (also a useful idea, but sadly perverted in a busy modern world, becoming “grind culture” and abusive overfocus on work to the detriment of self). The 21st century philosopher Byung-Chul Han wrote a book by this title, in praise of inactivity as a vital function of living well. Turns out, we’re so incredibly bad at living a contemplative life, or even at incorporating contemplation, self-reflection, and meditation into our daily lives that I couldn’t find a single really good source of information to link for this one, other than to Byung-Chul Han’s book. We put a lot more emphasis on productive action in life and society, even to the point of illness, chaos, and destruction. We over value momentum and ambition, and decry thoughtful reflection as”lazy” or a “waste of time “, and tend to punish the daydreamers and peace seekers among us. That’s pretty sad, actually.
A new day, well-suited to thinking thoughts and walking in solitude.
Day comes. The mist envelopes me on the marsh trail. I am alone with my thoughts, wrapped in contentment. I let the useful ideas stack up, layers of self-reflection, practices, and incremental changes over time. I can easily say I am in better place as a human being than I was 15 years ago. Strange to see the journey behind me in such clear terms, illuminated by a handful of useful ideas.
The time I’ve spent along the way really reflecting on where I’ve been and where I’m going – if I even know – has never been “wasted time”. Some of my most precious moments have been spent in contemplation. Meditation has proven itself as a powerful healing practice (for me). I didn’t know it would be, when I set off down this path…
… And it’s time, again, still, and already, to begin again. I don’t know where I’m going, not really, but I’m definitely getting there. The journey is the destination.
It rained during the night. The trail is wet, puddles frequent. The sky is dark and the clouds obscure the coming dawn. No moon to light my way this morning. I am dependent on my headlamp. Neither the darkness nor the occasional sprinkles of rain stop me, though. I have this path to walk.
I slept decently well, and woke feeling sufficiently rested to enjoy the day, in spite of my restless night. Some noise or other prevented me sleeping for some little while, and I woke during the night sometime later, though I never figured out why. Given the opportunity, I could maybe go right back to bed and sleep away the morning… although it’s probably wishful thinking, and anyway, it’s a work day.
This morning, my back aches fiercely. I remind myself it’s “only” arthritis pain – I’m rarely without it anymore, but it could be so much worse. I sit on this picnic table, rain poncho spread beneath me to make a dry place to sit. The night sky is beginning to lighten. My mind wanders to other autumn mornings, other points in my life. Other moments. I yawn, watching a mist begin to gather, here, close to the creek. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for meditation as the mist becomes thicker, obscuring the “view” in the darkness.
I think about the new earrings my Traveling Partner made for me. I smile, feeling wrapped in love. He made enough for me to share with friends, of several kinds, and one cute pair of hearts, just for me. I feel visible and understood. I feel grateful, and appreciated. I definitely feel loved.
Love takes many forms.
I hear footsteps approaching slowly. A doe is walking down the trail towards me. She sees me, pauses, and veers off the trail in a different direction, heading into the trees and disappearing from view. The silhouettes of trees are now distinctly separate from the dark gray of the sky. Daybreak approaches, and I see the very first headlights of a farm worker arriving for work on the far side of the vineyard. The clock is ticking. It is a new day.
I yawn and sigh, sitting here in the quiet pleasant stillness before dawn on a Friday morning. It is enough simply to be…at least for now. lol This is a very human experience, filled with moments of all sorts. I get to my feet with an audible groan. Fuck this “aging” bullshit! 😆 I stretch and contemplate the day ahead. I could really use a cup of coffee… and it’s time to begin again.
Yesterday was a beautiful and fulfilling excursion into a single prolonged moment of self-reflection and wonder. Meaning to say, it was a lovely day spent mostly in my own head.
What enlightenment looks like.
I walked miles of beach at low tide, close to the water’s edge where the sand is most firm and walkable. I ventured across slipping loose sand to explore rocks piled at the foot of steep erosion prone cliffs. I peered into tide pools ankle deep in waves as the tide turned. I walked, and wondered as I wandered.
I saw empty limpet and crab shells on the beach, and pebbles tumbled smooth by ocean waves. I saw anemones and starfish clinging to the rocks exposed at low tide. I saw a variety of sea plants uprooted and tossed along the beach, and even corals torn from wherever they had been, and carried to the chilly Oregon beach on which I spent the morning. Name it? Nah. Go find your own. lol The adventure and satisfaction are not about the specific location, they are more to do with how I spent the time and where I turned my attention; inward.
What you see is often a matter of where you look. This is a picture of a starfish.
I enjoyed the day. I feel more rested than I have in a long while. I sit now, alongside the local trail I’ve been walking most mornings lately, enjoying a few minutes of quiet reflection as the sun rises. Today is an ordinary work day. I feel easy in my skin and comfortable with myself. I’m in a ferocious amount of pain, which is neither surprising nor particularly consequential. It’s just a “feature” of this mortal life.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, the world’s stress and chaos, the violence, the bullshit, and the jockeying for power by the already powerful is nothing to do with me, directly. I’m here, now, in this moment, in this local place. My heart feels light. It’s enough.
I look down the trail, as the eastern horizon turns a bold orange. A new day begins. I smile and get to my feet. It’s time for me to begin, again, too.
It is the fall equinox. I took the day off from work to reflect, and to find balance. It’s the equinox, after all. It is a time for balance, day and night briefly the same length, a reminder that balance can be found, but not held static. Balance is not a permanent condition.
Lincoln City, at Road’s End, before sunrise.
I sip a hot coffee. The paper cup is warm in my hands. The morning is chillier here on the coast. I’m grateful for the foresight to have worn a warm sweater. I listen to the roar of the waves and the sea breeze, watching the sky begin to lighten, as daybreak, then dawn, each arrive in turn. As the dawn lights the horizon, I begin watching the waves roll in, in rows, stretching along the now-visible beach. The horizon itself is obscured by morning fog or dense clouds. I hear sea birds taking flight, calling to each other.
Where do I find balance? I guess anywhere that I create it, from whatever chaos is handy in the moment. Balance is in the choices I make. Same with “finding my center”. I create that center, that firm foundation, that moment to pause, to reflect, to breathe, and to simply be. I know that I’ve made it sound too easy. It’s not reliably easy. I sometimes choose poorly, or attempt to snatch a sense of balance from a moment that wanted something else of me entirely. As with painting, composition matters – just because a sight exists, doesn’t make it visually beautiful, worth putting on canvas – and so too with moments and seeking (or finding, or creating) balance. It’s not always “time for that”.
Moments later, same location, different perspective.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a good place for meditation, and a good moment for it. I take time for that as the sun rises, watching the waves, listening to the sea breeze, letting my thoughts float gently by, observed but not engaging with them. I focus on my breath, and the waves, and the distant horizon. There is time later for other things. For now, this is enough.
… Time passes. What’s left of my coffee is now cold. So are my hands. Curious gulls stand very near the car, eyeing me curiously. The misty western horizon has taken on a delicate shell pink hue, and the waves are steely gray edged in frothy white as they reach the shallows along the shore. Beautiful.
After meditating, before walking on the beach.
Certainly there is enough daylight now to easily see the steep path down to the beach. It’s quite chilly this morning, but I’m warmly dressed, appropriate for the chill of an autumn walk along the ocean beach early in the morning. I’ll take my time and enjoy the sights. The morning is mine, for finding or creating balance, on a lovely fall equinox. Later, I’ll return home and prepare a lovely meal and celebrate at home. It’s nothing particularly fancy, and doesn’t need to be (although the recipe I’m following is complex, and the dish suited to a celebration). I’m simply observing the change of seasons my own way.
Evening Light 