The sacredness of the morning

There is something extremely sacred to me about the morning. I covet it. I revel in it. It quiets my soul before the chaos of a day begins. But, I have to chase it and catch it or else it eludes me and for the rest of the day I feel its absence. It's like a refuge, or a preparation. Without the morning a day feels a bit off . It's the beautiful alcove to every good day.

It's separate; it's unique; it's sacred. It's like the world is catching its breath. It's slow to wake and stretch, giving ample space for preparation. I thought this as I sat on my back porch this morning observing the world. There was no rush, no hurry to run into the world and its problems; everything was content to simply be . The mind feels free to range and explore, contemplate and contend with its own thoughts, but the whole beauty of the morning is this-freedom. I like freedom...

Repetition

Life is constituted by repetition. We do everything again, and again. We wash ourselves, only to become dirty and then have to wash ourselves again. We eat, only to be hungry a few hours later. We wash dishes, yet only to find them dirty again. We repeat the same cycles repeatedly. The necessary repetitions of life are endless. It's madness. And monotony. Or is it?

Soloman comments upon the wearying repetitions of life in Ecclesiastes: "All things are full weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun." We are doing and living and breathing all and everything that has ever been and all that ever will be. What does one do with such unbending relentless reality...?

Longing for the eternal

I am reading through Ecclesiastes. It's not the most up-lifting read, but it is truth. It turns ones mind to contemplate the unbelievably fleeting nature of the temporal. And it is causing my mind to realize in contrast the indelible and insatiable longing we all possess for the eternal. Soloman, the greatest king of Israel, who possessed all wisdom and knowledge, pursued all means of pleasure and toil, found it all to be utterly worthless. Madness. And folly.

We are never complete, never satisfied. We always desire more than we possess, and operate under the delusion that if we attain it, we will be happy. Happy. What does it mean? It is but a "striving after wind," says Soloman. Everything is nothing.

My heart feels heavy with the weight of this reality tonight. I am burdened by the eminent emptiness of the temporal and my ever-present longing for the eternal. I feel the fissure between these two warring worlds with great keenness. Is it not all futile? Life and its pursuits? My soul knowns not. Perhaps I should keep reading Ecclesiastes...