A Moment of Sunlight

           For the first time in many months, I overlook the cemetery bathed in unobstructed sunlight. I stand beside the willow at the meeting point of the three paths, the three directions, breathing in the space of the open-air auditorium (the name I’ve given to this section of the graveyard I’ve made my space). The strong wind sends a collection of brown leaves swirling into a whirlwind, a whirlwind that carries off into the distance. Today, people pass perpetually—couples walking hand in hand, individuals jogging.

            With all this sudden activity, I become self-conscious of my still self. I stand on the precipice in mountain pose, gazing over the vast sweep of headstones, the fluttering trees. I breathe myself toward transcendent consciousness, but my assimilation is thwarted by my self-consciousness. What do these people think of me? Do they find me weird, standing still and not doing anything?

            It’s strange that stillness has become a source of self-conscious anxiety. We’re so often in go-mode, encouraged to keep ourselves busy at all times, to always remain productive. Apart from within various spiritual texts and communities, stillness is rarely, if ever, prized for its own sake. It is not seen to have practical value, and thus it is avoided.

            But here, standing, coming into presence with these thoughts, I must diverge from this thinking. For as I stand still, my thoughts settle, and I feel the sun on my barren legs.

            Can I control my mode of thinking? I want to think of something different. So I begin to direct my thoughts toward changes, toward phases. The question of changes leads me to the question of freedom: within an ever-changing world, how free am i? How connected to the world’s ceaseless changes am i? Is it a mere coincidence that today, the first day of unobstructed sunlight in many months, I feel calm, elated, and full of bliss? Am I free to control my moods, or are my moods inevitable consequences of the weather?

            It is true that this winter season has been, for me, a season of record-low morale. But is this reducible to the weather? Or is this me projecting my state onto the low gray clouds, the ceaseless haze of snow?

            I believe I am connected to the world in its changes, its phases. I am not this independent solid ego detached from all things that I often convince myself I am. But perhaps being connected to worldly changes does not mean I am unfree. Maybe it simply shows that ceaseless layers of reality exist beyond myself, that I am in a Nature beyond my comprehension, and that as the world moves forth in ever-changing phases, so do I.