I rose early this morning. Earlier, even, than in my youth, when the anticipation of opening presents had me bounding from my bed.
Today I rose with a peaceful clarity of thought. The tiny clear lights on the Christmas tree softly illuminated our quiet home. I set some coffee to brew, as is my habit. I checked outside in hopes of the forecasted morning snow, but none yet. And, from the radar, it’s looking iffy.
I sat in the quiet stillness. I thought of the people dear to me. My wife. Mom. Brothers and sister. The families of my family. The beautiful women who stood with me at my wedding. Dear friends from my high school days, who I don’t speak with nearly enough, but mean the world to me. The band of hikers from my journey on the AT. Current and former colleagues from work. My judo brethren. Students and teachers I’ve gotten to know; currently, and during my undergraduate days. The people I’ve gotten to know through my wife, who I now consider equally my friends. My dad, and Simon, both who I miss dearly.
As I sat, I took the time to think about each person—picture them, hear their voice or laugh, remember their smile, feel their energy and spirit. Then wish them abundance and contentment, and hope.
Then out further, to the people I might pass by in my simple daily activities. I try to picture myself as gently polarized to share a little positive energy with each and every person I contact.
And out yet more, to those who don’t see eye-to-eye with me, who believe differently than I do. I hope for them to know that I accept our difference, that I believe there is room for us both, and that I wish them abundance and contentment, however that looks for them.
When I attended the Shambhala Center for meditation practice, I learned that they end their meditation session with an intention. They ask that the energy and understanding that was found during the session be released to go out to help and serve the world.
That is my wish on this day.
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