A May Morning in the Community
I look out the window at my rustic front yard as it emerges in the slowly-increasing morning light. It’s almost all pine trees, though I look for and find a deciduous tree and see that buds and leaves are just now coming out.
By Steve Sandner
Mid-May, waking up with gratitude at Song of the Morning Clear Light Community. I look out the window at my “rustic” (meaning, it needs work) front yard as it emerges in the slowly-increasing morning light. It’s almost all pine trees, though I look for and find a deciduous tree and see that buds and leaves are just now coming out. The ubiquitous ferns are not showing yet, but I know they will soon be covering most of the ground of the forest and the yard surrounding my house. I consciously listen to the morning sounds, hearing only a few birds and a little wind. I walk outside, in my pajamas, to feel the morning air, crisp and cool, in the high 50s. I hear a distant rumble from the northwest and wonder if is traffic from Sturgeon Valley Road. No, it is the wind rustling the trees some distance away. In a few seconds, I feel a brief gust of cool wind, then it is quiet again. In the outside air, the birds sound more numerous, and I recognize an Indigo Bunting, and the ever-present Red-eyed Vireo. Also a distant woodpecker. There are other birds, whose names I don’t remember, though I know my neighbor Mike Wanger could identify all the sounds. He will have to re-teach me!
In the outside morning air, the birds sounds are numerous, and I recognize an Indigo Bunting, and the ever-present Red-eyed Vireo. Also a distant woodpecker.
I’m eager to start working and I have several projects lined up for today. Some of my online projects I especially enjoy doing, and I’ll be driving 10 miles to Vanderbilt to a spacious, high-bandwidth office I’m borrowing from my friend John. There are other projects involving household spring cleaning, not so enjoyable, though I feel some satisfaction that the clean-up is going to get started.
With the day’s workload looming before me, I return inside and decide on a shortened meditation and kriya practice. So I put the thoughts about the upcoming day aside and sit cross-legged for my habitual practice. A few thoughts still invade, though, and I invite the calm surroundings of the forest to bring a deeper peace to my meditation. After kriyas, I like to have a calm period of silence of at least five minutes, and I tell myself that there is no urgent rush. For some reason, I’m facing a resistance to this, and I have to remind myself that the will governs the mind. I’m a little troubled that this is a slight problem, even after many years of meditation practice. Nevertheless, I sit quietly, calmly locked in to another five minutes, and brush aside contrary thoughts. The bliss becomes deeper than expected, and I hang on to it with gratitude. I pass another 20 or 30 minutes without worrying about time. I hear an inner voice telling me to write about the morning. The rest of my workday will wait–a bit!