Somehow the day got away from me. Certain days do that. They pass quietly and unnoticeably by, and when it’s time to look up from the tasks at hand you find, rather startlingly, that the bulk of the day has gone. It happens less when one is working at home, and more acutely aware of the ticking of the clock, but it still happens.
More often I find myself doing an evening meditation when I’ve gone into the office, then out to dinner, and by the time I’ve settled down and have a moment to rest, I remember that I still need to meditate. It’s become such a part of my daily routine that when it doesn’t happen I feel like something is missing. Doing a night-time meditation is how I started my meditation practice; in the early dark of winter, I began meditating to find some calm in the emotional turmoil that the dark season can occasionally conjure. It was a way of ending the day and preparing the body for rest and slumber.
When the clocks turn back and the daylight declines, I’ll be forced to do some meditation in the dim light of the evening again, and it actually makes for a lovely close to the day. It’s easier to soften the focus when the only light is carried by a candle. The items of interest fade dimly into the background, the mind is free to clear itself, and that somewhat elusive sense of clarity and peace that is the goal of most meditation seems to present itself most comfortably at the start or ending of a day.
{Programming note: this seems like a fitting post to carry us through tomorrow, when we go dark in honor of 9/11 – a tradition I’ve kept since the inception of this website in 2003. Back then it seemed like our country would never see such a horrible loss of life again. That was before COVID and this administration’s disastrous response to it. Now those numbers feel different, but the ache of any loss resonates, no matter how much time has passed. Let’s take some time to be still and silent, and come back here on Saturday.}
