I am told today is my birthday. I am useless with birthdays. Both mine and all loved ones alike. I never could got my head around the point of them? We are free to celebrate the unfathomable richness and uniqueness of each living day, why is a 'birth-day' so special?
Each morning we crack open an aching eye out of the warm womb of dreams into new born day. Each waking a wide berth of possibility. A youthful invitation to an unimaginable innocence of pain and promise. Afternoons are middle-age, the energy of a fresh young morning fuses with deeper truths and rhythms of the day that is yet to come.Evenings are the culmination, the crecendo of a day fully celebrated.
A day-in-the-life and life-in-a-day are brought to a head as our weary frame fades under the cloak of a peaceful easy sleep of death. Will we awake from it? We are too tired to know. And we must never know, else how could we sleep but that through the womb of another night will arise the gift of a fresh new morning, a new day of birth.
Each day, lived fully in the present is an precious invitation to a celebration, until there are none left to speak of. The way we live in the presence of that gift is its only true celebration. As we say around our house "Happy New Day!".
"Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be."
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream
Act III. Scene II