I’m entranced with the moon shining as the morning sky comes to light. My eyes are drawn outside even as I consider the room in which I ruminate and communicate.

In Anna Held Audette’s tiny book, The Blank Canvas – Inviting the Muse, she writes, “You need to arrange your studio environment so that it fits you.  Even Van Gogh, who was forced to work under the most rudimentary conditions, wrote, “I have taken some (prints) for my little room to give it the right atmosphere, for that is necessary to get new thoughts and ideas.”

This morning after meditating, I sat, eyes still closed, and gently touched with my hands the seven bones that meet at the eye socket.  Then, I allowed one hand to touch the opposite shoulder and the collar bone. The hand seemed content to stay in the air. I allowed and savored that even as I moved it slightly; the thumb fanned the air as it moved with delicacy and tenderness in and out.

When I opened my eyes, I perused the palm of my hand; it felt heavier with the weight of my eyes.  That led me to Google to investigate photons which have no mass but do have energy. What was happening with my hand? Was it simply that I was noticing the celebration of light in its passage in me, through me, as me?

I was reminded of George Eliot’s wonderful words in her book Middlemarch: “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.”

I don’t think we’d die from keener vision and feeling.  I think we come more alive. I look up and out and the moon still shines. The sky is shared by moon and sun. We are containers for all.

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