The sun rises every day. I know this because it has risen each and every day of my 62 years. If it hadn’t, I’m sure I would have noticed.
The sun rises every day. Sometimes warm and crystal clear, other times soft and gentle through a thin cloud covering, or moody and mysterious in a heavy fog, diffused through a cold and muffled snow, or dull from heavy clouds and rain. But always rising.
And the sun, rising wherever I am, also rises every place everyone else is. If it didn’t, I’m sure I would have heard. Yet, it’s rising can vary from place to place as it does from one time to another. When the light is crisp and brilliant where I am, it may be soft and gentle where I am not, but someone else is.
While I find the rising sun not only an observable phenomenon in and of nature, I also find it a deep source of comfort and hope. The sun will, I believe, continue to rise each and every day I’m alive. And, since I know the sun and its rising are a lot bigger than me, I also believe it will continue to rise even after I myself do not. And I’m ok with that. In its rising for me, everyone else and every living thing, I feel a strong connection which permeates every corner of my life, molding my personal philosophy and view of the world. I am so very small and so very big all at the same time. We – the sun, me, everyone else and every living thing – are in this together. We matter. We all matter, both individually and together. In a very real sense, we are one.
And, as long as the sun and I rise together, I will find beauty and meaning in it, its rising and my rising. This fundamental force of nature is, then, also a vast spiritual source. Is it one more than the other? Not for me.
This I believe.
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