Here’s a thought I’d like to share…
before the dawn
the possibility of dawn –
all night holding that
~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
We spend a lot of time waiting. We sometimes wait patiently, but, more often than not, we resent waiting, we dislike it, we deem it a waste. In truth, aren’t we more often in transition than any other place?
A cardinal just flew to a branch near where I’m sitting on my porch. His bright red is striking. He waits there. He flicks his tail and chirps his notes and waits. He will fly soon. I wait.
My pup is hanging out with me. He waits for me to reach down to pet him or go inside. He waits.
My husband is cooking on the grill. He lights the charcoals, then waits. I’ve prepared veggies to roast. It’s not time yet. I wait.
I text my daughter to find out how her cake turned out. I wait. She texts back and says it’s in the oven. She waits.
Tomorrow, I’ll teach a yoga class. Before I start, I’ll wait. At the end of class, when the students are in the savasana, the final pose, they’ll wait. I’ll wait.
Endings come, then beginnings come, then endings… we wait.
Maybe waiting is just “being with what is.” Maybe it’s only “waiting” because we make it personal – “I” am waiting – rather than “oh, now this is happening.”
If, as the poem says, before dawn, we always hold the possibility of dawn (or the promise that we can be renewed in any moment), our wait can soften into wonder. When we experience wonder, we rest back into the deep trust that we are part of something bigger than the small self can see. And when we do that, we can open to the wonder of it all.
We wait, yes, but we can also learn to live into the experience of that “wait” rather than try to mindlessly ‘wait out’ the wait. We can learn to lean into it and sense the wonder in being able to witness things arise, stay awhile, then pass away.
Sitting on the porch on this beautiful afternoon, that sounds easy. Just wait, this too will pass, and I’ll be wrestling with waiting once again.
Wishing you moments of wonder while you wait,