One is Enough

I just got back from a week in Maine, a lovely vacation.  The week after Labor Day everything slows down and is less crowded, although some places close up or have reduced hours.  Since I mostly wanted to be at the beach or on a trail, that didn’t matter.  I came for the sunrise, sunset, and stars.

The first three days we had fog every evening, lasting through the night and well into the morning.  No sunset, no sunrise, no stars.  It was great weather for reading or doing a puzzle, or thinking, and I did some of each, but I was really put out about the skies.  The middle of each day was beautiful, but I missed my times!  My traveling companion was content to read those days, and it didn’t occur to me to go hiking by myself, so I was restless and frustrated.  By Friday morning I was considering leaving early for someplace with clear skies.

Then everything changed.  We went to the beach, and it was clear and beautiful.  The sunset that night was glorious.  The stars were out that night.  Next day, sunrise was awesome.  We found wonderful, magical trails through the woods that led to water vistas.  Tide pools showed their abundance of life and beauty.  

The next day was overcast, with a storm brewing.  I went down to the water at dawn.  There wasn’t much sunrise to see, but the waves at high tide were beautiful.  It seemed that, having seen a sunrise there, I could now appreciate the land as it was that day.  I could see the beauty.  There was not just one thing to see there; there was a multiplicity of experiences, involving smell and touch and sound as well as vision.  I had let down my expectations enough to encounter the world.

The next morning, our last morning there, we watched a subtle and lovely sunrise.  The water was flat, like I imagine blueberry Jello might look just before it sets.  As the sun rose, it glistened on the water.  I thought, “Once is enough.”  

I don’t need 150 sunrises or sunsets or nights below the stars.  I have this one, and it is amazing.  I can spend my time waiting for the next one, wishing for more, or I can be grateful for the experience and the memory of what is present before me.  I wasted the first three days of vacation - not because I didn’t hike or whatever, but because I was so set on my expectation of how things should be that I could not welcome the world I was in.  Now I know that a foggy sunrise is as much a gift as a full color panorama.  And I know that one is enough.

Today I’m back in Accord, at the computer, but my heart is full.  I can access the memory of any moment, I can open to God right now and find that same joy wherever I am.  

Loaves and fishes.  A little is enough when the heart is open to receive.