[Note: This is from my upcoming collection of thoughts, meditations, and essays titled My Rogue Mile, which should be available by November of this year!]
I HAVE made a concerted effort, especially the past four years, to notice things. That may sound trite, even silly. But if you think about it, it really isn't.
Consider how much slips by us each day unnoticed. We even take little to no notice of things that, ostensibly, we should: say, our loved ones, or our health, or the state of our marriage, or changes in our children. We cocoon ourselves inside our little heads, where we hide from the world.
I suppose it's all understandable. Life can truly suck. Uncertainty reigns. We control so little; and those things we have some control over often wrench free of it. It can all get quite depressing.
There is also the problem of the undue influence of acquaintances, family, and the media, the latter of which work day and night to convince you to pay attention only to those things that they deem important. Often what they want you to pay attention to is nothing more than smoke and mirrors and outright lies. Truth be damned.
And so, as an act of rebellion, I force myself out of my head, out of that cocoon, and do my best to notice things, like this lovely little flower on a beach in northern
California. There is maybe four cubic feet
of space surrounding it, but all of it is miraculous in its own right. It's
alive. It's dynamic. It's subtle, quiet, and perfectly itself.