07/30/2025
In my old home, my bedroom faced the east, and each morning I would rise in silence, the window wide open, just waiting. I’d sit in stillness as the first light broke through the sky—soft, golden, and full of promise. That sunrise, every single day, felt like a quiet miracle. It became a ritual—meditation wrapped in light—a communion with something far greater than myself. It was, without question, the most breathtaking sunrise I have ever known.
After selling that house, I never expected such beauty to return in a different form. But life, in its quiet wisdom, led me here—to a new place where my balcony now faces west. And now, each evening, as the day slips gently into dusk, Buddha and I sit together in silence. We share an hour or two of evening stillness, watching the sun fall beneath the horizon. There is a calm here, a maturity to the light, and to my own spirit.
It strikes me that this is the rhythm of life. In our earlier years, we reach toward the sunrise—eager, open, and full of becoming. And as time unfolds, we learn the grace of the sunset—how to let go, how to simply be, and how to cherish the beauty of what has been.
So now, I honor both: the sunrise that awakened me, and the sunset that teaches me how to rest in peace, presence, and gratitude.
