Today was an adventure. Clockwise from top left: wandering through Boston Public Garden, enjoying the sounds of the T, catching the late afternoon sun at Dean Road Park in Brookline.
Day 3 of my “open-eared Sabbath” project.
I may have never noticed those leaves in the park, those few beautifully wilted leaves who were still hanging on, who had made it all the way through the wreckage of winter. But something prompted me to look up–that sound of leaves in the wind.
I could not believe it, how resilient they are after all this time, crinkled and brown and still clinging to their source.
After the rain, the snow, the sleet, the wind, I wonder how–how they made it when others did not.
And maybe that is just the mystery. No one has the answer to why some fall and some stay. We can only wonder.
Today on the T was the only time in my life I will ever hear that exact soundscape. The blend of those exact languages and dialects. Their polyrhythms with the wheels on the track. It was a song like no other.
On the train ride back, a toddler held by her mother but with feet forward into a little niche, held but precarious, looked at me, and I at her. I was also precariously balanced, my backpack taking up half the seat. The train, and each other, were our entertainment. No phones, no distractions, just being here. Just being held by this moment while tipping into that uncertain edge of future.
Sabbath today for me is not clutching on to these precious moments. Letting this pass, as moments are made to do. With my phone or notebook, I am normally wont to capture, and something today places a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘To live this moment is to let go of it. Let it go, and what needs to stay will remain in the sieve.’
Sabbath today isn’t about digging or diving to the bottom. Today I feel myself float to the top. It just takes unplugging so that my self can surface.
When I rise up above the earth,
And look down on the things that fetter me,
I beat my wings upon the air,
Or tranquil lie,
Surge after surge of potent strength
Like incense comes to me
When I rise up above the earth
And look down upon the things that fetter me.
“When I Rise Up,” by Georgia Douglas Johnson
Sing a New Song 