One early morning when deep snow made maneuvering the lake path challenging, I chose an around~town walk instead. The plows had cleared the paved roads, and the dirt ones were already lined with tire tracks making possible a fast pace. While not as spectacular as at the lake, the views from the streets around town still showcased the ring of snow~covered mountains, some shimmering with the first rays of the rising sun. I was delighted, as I am each morning.
Years ago my father, a dedicated night owl and late riser after retirement, asked what was so darn special about a sunrise. "What can I possibly see at dawn that I can't see at sunset?" A rhetorical question I realized when he brushed off my answer. He already knew that dawn held nothing for him, and I'm sure many who love to ramble late into the evening would agree with him. But it sure is a special time for me, one I'm dedicated to experiencing as often as possible.
This time of year, it is still dark when I rise, allowing time for a little lectio divina until the sky begins to brighten. I then bundle myself up in however many layers the temperature and wind advise, and I'm on my way. And it is sheer joy. Of course I'm particularly elated if clouds are arranged in just the right pattern and depth to display dazzling colors, and I do try to time my walk for the best chance of being thus gifted. But truly, I've never met a dawn I didn't like. Colorful or grey, clear or overcast, windy or calm, cold or warm, wet or dry, vistas opening out for miles or closed in by a fog so thick it is impossible to see more than a few feet ahead~~I love them all.
My father, nearly eight years gone now and hopefully enjoying magical vistas of his own, offered the question. Here is my answer~~or answers~~about what is so darn special about the sunrise.
It arrives out of night's quietude, and as I hear and see and feel the quickening of this wild and precious world, I am offered a visceral reminder that the stillness I find at night remains beneath it all. It is an underground stream ever available for a quick dip or complete immersion. It flows beneath me whether I am happy or sad, when things are going as I'd like and when they are not, and regardless of whether I am in harmony or in struggle. So, Father O' Mine, that is my first answer.
While sunset signals the return to the Yin from our sojourn into Yang, sunrise does the opposite. It launches us from the Yin of quiet night into the Yang of the day's activity. And from that comes my second answer. Dawn opens me to the day, announcing the beginning of something altogether new, something that has not yet been. There is a freshness to it, a promise, a chance to start anew. Whatever came of yesterday, at sunrise I stand on the brink of the unknown. And the brightening of the sky, no matter how gray or colorful it might be on a particular day, encourages me to greet that opportunity wholeheartedly, to show up as fully as I can, to make my own offering a worthy one. That is my second answer.
My third is that sunrise simply feels different than sunset. Yes, the sky's colors may be the same, but the energy of each is not. The natural world waking up is a different experience from the natural world hunkering down for its time of rest. Sunset encourages me to hunker down myself, to withdraw and to be still, which is a lovely thing. Sunrise, though, calls me out to greet it. It is almost as if I am compelled to do so.
Which brings me to my fourth answer. I truly don't know why I'm a morning person who needs to steep in the dawn. I just know that I am. And who am I to disagree?
Sunrise and sunset are both in~between times when, according to many cultures, the veil is thin between this world and the one that lies beyond it. Bookends linked one to the other, each transitional time offers something special. And these diurnal rhythms have a corollary in the shifting of the seasons.
We are coming up now on the Spring Equinox, which arrives this year on March 20th and will bring us nearly three hours more daylight than we had at the Winter Solstice. A cause of celebration in its own right, eh? And yet it is more than that. Equinoxes, after all, are in~between times too, halfway points between the Yin of winter and the Yang of summer. And when approached consciously, they can inspire us.
Spring is a threshold with gifts similar to those of dawn. As we ready ourselves for the leap into the busier time of the year, we can remember that the quietude we found in winter ever remains, humming beneath all the hubbub to come. Just as at dawn, Spring brings us to the brink of something altogether new, tender shoots sprouting and eager for the growth already underway. It encourages a vow to greet whatever comes wholeheartedly and to live it to the best of our ability.
Just as with sunrise and sunset, winter's opening toward spring feels wholly different than autumn's falling back into the arms of darkness. It is time now for us to open up, to step out, to greet what comes. And to receive it fully and with our whole beings, as we marvel at getting to be here in the living of this life.
And just like sunlight spilling across the landscape, we are asked to shine our own light back, and to do so in joy and in gratitude. Yes, let's do that!
Happy Spring, Y'all!
Leia
