Much as I loved our two days of sunshine, I couldn't help noticing how glorious the light was this morning in the gray and the fog -- or was that a fine mist, bowing down the dune grass and the rose hips already ripening in the yard?
At any rate I found myself reveling in the luxury of alone time; the thrill of uninterrupted coffee, of staring out the window and really seeing what lies beyond the glass, of grabbing my camera and heading out in my bathrobe -- no workmen to worry about -- to photograph what calls to me.
Not that I couldn't do that otherwise; all of it would be okay. But stripped of an audience, I feel so much more at ease, so much more willing to listen to the promptings of my own spirit rather than the myriad voices that worry about what others may think, or what they might need from me.
I keep hoping that other-centeredness will disappear with age and meditation practice, but I suppose I am mostly grateful that at least now I take the time to listen to myself when I'm alone. I suspect that even 2 years ago I would have leapt from the table to the meditation chair, bent on the safety and ritual of routine, instead of stopping to really see... Just think what I've been missing, all these years!