“Today, like every other day,
We wake up empty and frightened.
Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.
Let the be beauty we love
be what we do.
There are a hundred ways
to kneel and kiss the ground.”
~Rumi
One of my first thoughts when I read this again the other morning is how sweetly human it is. I feel seen…acknowledged. I wonder how many of you out there feel the same, especially in these uncertain times, as you rise to greet another day.
I, too, wake up empty–and frightened–and looking for a way to pull myself back to center. What I love about this is the realization that it’s actually normal. And it’s nothing so serious…nothing so weird.
Another thought I had when I read this poem was that I wished I played a musical instrument. Isn’t that funny? My head, at first, rushes to “Not good enough.”
But Rumi tells us here that there are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
Pen and paper are musical instruments for me. They’re how I get in touch with how I feel.
And I can listen to music. I can dance in the privacy of my own room.
There are a hundred ways to get in touch with gratitude…and devotion…and the beauty of what we love.
Some, I notice, bake beautiful fresh breads.
For others, a morning walk, or feeling their toes in the sand at the beach is the way they kneel and kiss the ground.
Noticing the moon…and the planets…the stars…constellations…is another way.
It could be any small ritual for which you are truly present.
Even the simple act of making the bed in the morning with attention…and gratitude for a night’s rest, can be a way to let the beauty of what we love be what we do.
Lighting a candle. Whispering a prayer.
The point, for me, was that I needn’t be discouraged by the idea that I may have to come back to my touchstones over and over again: paying attention to my breath, writing, dancing–whatever it is–and to know that I can be okay with that. Can we be okay if every morning we feel a bit scattered, lost…uncertain…and we have to gently bring ourselves back to the place where we’re seeing the beauty in life?
Can it be okay if every morning we feel a little darkness as we rise to face another day…and we take down our musical instrument, whatever it is…and begin to play?
