Days of Awe

Can I start with dreams of spring to inspire days of awe? Cherry blossom tea is brings reflection.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

I have had to take off my rose-coloured glasses. I am languishing. Decisions are being made that will affect me and I can’t do anything about it. I can put one foot in front of the other and deal with the consequences of other’s decisions. And I need a purpose injection.

Then this poem came through my inbox, I paused:

The Peace of Wild Things
By Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day — blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time,
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

This poem reminds me that I have the ability to infuse grace into my world. I am languishing because I am just going through the motions without a lot of emotion or interest. I can keep busy and that busyness is devoid of meaning. My busy life has kept me awe-deficient.

I am here to change that. I am reminding myself that I choose how I show up in the world and I want to experience what Einstein called the most beautiful thing by practicing awe.

Awe is when life grants us the chance to think differently and deeper about itself, so that we are not left squandering its gift by languishing it away.

The benefit for me to practice awe, as science suggests, is to increase my life satisfaction, have a sense of time slowing down or stopping, and feeling interconnected with others. I want that, especially today.

Today, I am practicing awe. Not the trivial awe of “Wow, I found ten bucks in my pocket!” but the real awe that is “ an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sublime, extremely powerful…”

Today, my awe practice is an easy way to start. I want to infuse awe into my day and appointments today kept me languishing. Instead of waiting to start tomorrow, I set aside five minutes after breakfast to watch a awe-inspiring video. The video when given all my attention on full screen mode gives a sense of vastness in the world and puts into perspective my small place in it. It expands my sense of wonder.

Give it a try:

Taking time out of my routine to experience awe lifts me out of the usual day-to-day concerns and connects me to something larger.

Days of Awe — Mahler

I am taking another dip into a Day of Awe.  What cup of tea is reminiscent of classical music? Ah, deep black Yunnan tea.

I wanted to bring all my senses into the experience of awe. So much of our view of the world is visual, and there is so much richness in the other senses. I recall reading somewhere, that no animal can survive if they are deaf. The loss of hearing is more detrimental than the loss of sight. I see that in my father as he sits watching his family laugh and play without being able to be in on it. My father has lost a lot of his hearing. He has hearing aids. When the group of us get together, the hearing aids can become just a bunch of noise. He makes up for it by taking lots of pictures.

I began exploring haunting music. Music, more than other art, seems to be personal. My husband is a big Led Zeppelin fan and I could take it or leave it. Classical music doesn’t seem to have the same polarizing effect. To experience awe from a rich melody, if you don’t care about classical music, I suggest you watch Ben Zander’s TED talk before listening to a most beautiful Mahler symphony.

 

My awe practice for today is to listen to Mahler’s Adagietto Symphony 5. It reminds me that there is beauty in the world and in the heart. Listen with an open mind and open heart, and let time stop.

When Time Stops

In the fading forest a bird call sounds.
How out of place in a fading forest.
And yet the bird call roundly rests
in this moment that it made,
as wide as the sky above the fading forest.

All things sound together in that cry:
the whole land seems to lie within it,
and the moment, which wants to persist,
stops, still, as if knowing things
arising from that cry
that you would have to die to know.

Rainer Maria Rilke