Monday, January 25, 2010

Lessons from the Porch Desk: The Power Cords Teach Us

Before today, when I looked in my photo frame and saw them taking up space in what I was attempting to photograph, I grimaced. "They are ruining my shot!" I lamented. "Why are they still there? New neighborhoods don't have power lines running through their skies, cluttering up the view"....

This morning, something shifted as I stepped through the door at sunrise to take my daily photo.

25/365: January 25, 2010 - Powercords at Sunrise

The power lines were still there, hovering in the horizon of the shot I used to think I wanted. Today, I saw the power lines as perfect. Instead of wishing them away, I focused upon them. I saw their beauty, their symmetry. I saw how they sliced through the sky, separating colors as if they were put in exaclty that spot divinely, like the towering linden tree or the low-to-the ground dandelions.

I sat at my porch desk and wrote along the blue lines in my notebook:

24/365 - January 24, 2010 - Writing on the Porch - 365X3

"What power do those lines carry on their metal corded backs?

"Is it the zap of electricity bringing light to Robert's calculus problem or Sally's aquarium as she looks in shocked disbelief that her favorite fish, Nemo, needs to be buried. Or, do those cords carry the voices of Uncle Barry pontificating or Katie hearing the bad news about Tim?

"Don't voices leap from tower to tower, instead?

"They don't need power lines anymore, I don't think, just like I don't need to have the strength to dangle upside down, hanging from my bent knees on the metal cord of the Carteret Park jungle gym, my ponytails grazing the sandy playground floor."

I looked up, wondering what notivated the Carteret Park, hanging-from-knees image, wondered why it popped up.

"When did these things change?"

I know I turned away at some point, stopped noticing the sunrise, stopped noticing the inexplicably poignant blue of the sky before many have seen it yet, so fresh and optimistic, my breath slows and my eye lids hold the tears which arise without warning. I turned again to see new beginnings and realized in that moment, the poignant blue sky matched the poignant blue in my eyes and my perspective.

I looked up and smiled into the ever-changing morning sky, grateful I took the time to watch it. Grateful I sat in the audience of the power lines, of memory, of the sunrise - an everyday miracle.

And Now You: Be open to everyday miracles today, waiting for your attention, your awareness, your gentle awakening.

What do you see out your window?

Give it the space to astonish you.

1 comment:

  1. Julie, I sure like your lesson from the porch desk - lovely moment of time you have shared with us. Night has fell as we arrive back to Mayne Island. I see shadows of the large fir trees as they hold the night air snug around us until morning.


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