For all the years that I’ve been watching the Boston Marathon festivities from my living room armchair, I’ve felt something uniquely simple about each runner crossing the finish line. Oh, I know that the training and the running is incredibly complex, but as the runners turn the corner from Hereford Street to Boylston, there is a simplicity, a floating through the final hundred feet. They are ‘in the zone’, with something beyond themselves carrying them forward. I wonder if I will ever sense that again.
There really isn’t anything new to say about yesterday’s bombing in Boston but it seems that everyone needs to say something. So here’s mine.
For all the years that I’ve been watching the Boston Marathon festivities from my living room armchair, I’ve felt something uniquely simple about each runner crossing the finish line. Oh, I know that the training and the running is incredibly complex, but as the runners turn the corner from Hereford Street to Boylston, there is a simplicity, a floating through the final hundred feet. They are ‘in the zone’, with something beyond themselves carrying them forward. I wonder if I will ever sense that again.
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My thought for the day came early this morning--in fact, soon after 4:45 as I sat on “the deck” sipping coffee and waiting for the first glimmer of morning twilight to appear. I was reminded of the impermanence of life, and that I am not in as control of my life as I would like to be. Alas that's one of those lessons most of us have to keep learning again and again! Even my camera doesn’t do justice to the awe I experienced, but here are a few pictures to tweak your imagination. They were taken over the period of an hour. By 6:42 the sun had risen in the east, while the moon was getting ready to set in the west just a minute later at 6:43. Then there was the moonrise at 4 PM.
My cottage by the sea. An easy hour and a half drive from home and here I am at my cottage by the sea. It was just a year ago that I came here for the first time, so on first glance everything is familiar and I’m prepared for the same routine. For example, I know that I want to read and relax in the living room (which I call the deck) because it is right on the ocean, facing due east; and I know that it is high tide when I look out the window and see that the waves have covered certain rocks along the shore. But I have forgotten how difficult it is to settle into really being alone. The cottage is silent, but my mind is full of chatter. There’s not a soul around, and yet images of family and friends pop up as I wander from room to room. My calendar for the next three days is blank, but the myriad choices before me do not suggest simplicity. It’s going to take determination and concentration to get out of my head, to stop thinking. Okay, I’m going to take a walk along the beach and practice being in the moment--- with the water, rocks and sand, sea gulls, and clouds. Off I go. I’ll report back. Me on the beach. I’m back after a glorious hour and a half walk, feeling more grounded and present to it all--this cottage, the rocks, the calm sea, the silence. This is why I sometimes like to be alone—to experience myself in the moment, to let feelings and thoughts wash over me and rest with me. And then there are the thoughts that only seem to come when I’m alone. Today along the beach I told myself how happy I was. “But is that fair,” I asked, “with all the suffering in the world?” Well, maybe, just maybe, if I can feel peaceful, I can better be there for someone else. It's worth a try. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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