Recently, I’ve pushed my morning yoga routine back a bit so I can spend more time in prayer and breathing before starting my day. While I am not always motivated to wake up those 15 minutes earlier, I find that in the long run, it pays off for my body and spirit.
Part of the challenge of rising earlier (besides leaving a warm bed on a chilly autumn morning) is the darkness that pervades the farm. In the summer, I loved waking up almost an hour later when Sun would be join me in my morning’s meditation. During the school year, however, that is simply not an option.
This morning, I grudgingly opened the curtains to view blackness. I could not see the changing leaves or distant mountains; darkness surrounded my home.
As I peered out into the pre-dawn sky, I tried to appreciate that it’s the just the ebb and flow of day and night.
Sometimes, Darkness seems to envelop our spirits. We pray, we meditate, we rest–we try to do all the “right” things, and yet, she slowly creeps in, like the ocean on the sand. It frustrates or challenges us because we seemingly cannot make in impact on her presence. All we can do is wait for the tide to turn, and it will turn, and slowly fade back out toward the horizon.
After I completed my yoga routine, I turned off the lights in my living room. I turned around to leave and walk down the hall when I stopped and noticed something–a faint purple square in the middle of black floor. I turned around and sure enough, Sun was stretching behind the mountains and Light prepared to enter the world again.