Being Open

Being conscious and being present are the goal. Yet being present and aware brings with it a sensitivity to surroundings. The converse, I know, is that not being in the moment means missing what is present. Which may mean missing that overheard statement of the couple passing by on the street, or the look of a newly opened dandelion's yellow against the glowing spring green of the grass, or noticing how the news on NPR trickles down to that emotional place in my chest. Or how I miss my friends, who are also too busy to sit down to tea.


Being open is not easy and sometimes I want to shut that door and crawl back to the seeming sanctuary of busy-ness. What is this writing about, anyway? Who do I think I am? Why would I want to be in touch with a world so in turmoil and so much suffering? What can I do, anyway?

A news story. Or two or three: car crashes, plane crashes, missing hikers, missing mothers and fathers, abducted children lost, one found. Politicians: rearranging the colors of the flag to suit their own viewpoint, spouting rhetoric which all sounds the same if you really listen beyond the form of the words, yet, somehow, one will come out on top and then the two finalists. How many months until this madness is done? Weather: global warming, colder winters, late snow, flooding. Bicyclists. Priests. Weather. Environment. Blue collars; going green. Platinum awards for doing more with less or is it less with more?

Being open means all of this. Means the feelings that go with the stories and the memories raised by the stories / colors / sights / smells. Means sometimes it's not easy but maybe it is easier than trying to keep the door shut all the time. Noticing.

Opening.

Sensing.

painting: The Magic Egg Shop
by Serena Barton