It is the repetitious in my life that dulls the edges and allows me to be only partially present. The routines of each day mean that I can walk through it without thought, without awareness. I will find myself brushing my teeth, even if I don’t plan to do it. I will pack lunches. I will drive to school and back. I could sleepwalk through my day.
And yet, the repetitious also brings me back to myself. The start of my practice, in its physical rhythm of pouring a little water on the bamboo, lighting the incense and the candle, is my call to awaken to my Self. My days are peppered with moments like this: Before I cook, I connect to the food, to the ones it will feed. When I strap myself into the car, I am washed by the flood of awe that I get to drive it. When I sit at my computer, before I write, my hands on the keyboard remind me to straighten my back, to call on my essence to enter fully into my awareness and guide my thoughts.
I think of those who are dealing with their lives breaking open, or are trying to shape it back together. It is the repetitious that will save them from the utter blank of despair. The pang of hunger that needs feeding, the child that needs tending, the light of day breaking through the blinds… some day there will be beauty in the rays for them again.