May 1996
Infinite Expectation
by Dr. Laurel Hallman, minister, First Unitarian Church, Dallas,
Texas
I have not been, for most of my life, a dawn person. After staying up
late reading, the last thing I wanted to do was to rise at dawn to greet
the new day. But in the last year I have deliberately begun rising just
before dawn, and sitting to watch the sun rise over the roofs of my neighbor's
homes.
At first I fussed about how to do this Zen practice right. I worried
about the right sitting posture. I worried because, even at the beginning
of my day my thoughts were scattered. I would get frustrated when my dog
wanted in, or out, or in again. Then I have lamented that I know the scientific
reasons the sun rises and sets--I cannot believe that the sun is
rising or setting for me, as did other generations, not given such
knowledge. The sun is I know not rising at all, but I am the one
rising and setting with the rotation of the earth.
But in time, all of that has subsided. I sit with my citronella candle
to keep away the mosquitoes. My dog has learned pretty much to sit beside
me with some calmness. And I find myself moving into the rhythm of an ancient
Psalmist who moves from confusion and complaining, from overwhelm and lament,
to gratitude, it seems almost in the same breath.
Let me tell you what you will see and hear at dawn--at least
in my neighborhood--if you, like me have not been such an early
riser.
You will hear the first bird. Every day has its first bird.
Every day--at least in my neighborhood, Monday to Friday--a
helicopter will fly over, I assume to report on the traffic because the
whir of traffic has already begun at dawn. Then it flies back.
You will come to believe that you know the woodpecker that has its breakfast
at the electric pole in the alley every morning at about the same time,
working its way up and down the pole, digging out what I imagine to be
an infinite number of tiny bugs.
You will see that the sky is different at every dawn. This week it has
been clear--with the simple change of hue signaling the arrival
of the day--and it has been clouded over, with the light coming
through the clouds, turning them, at first a wonderful pink, and then,
as the sun rose, reflecting their water-filled darkness.
Every dawn is different, even as the fact of the dawn is as infinite
as time itself.
I remember standing in the great foyer of People's Church in Grand Rapids,
Michigan, where the minister drew my attention to the inscription around
the ceiling of the room: "This is a day which the creator has made--let
us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
As he pointed to those ancient words he said, "This is a day given us
by time and history, let us rejoice and be glad." It was the first time
I saw myself, I saw all of us, as the recipients of this day in time and
history. We are the ones, alive, today. This is our day, given to us. Let
us rejoice.
I do not begin with those words when I sit on my pillow at dawn. I begin
with some Richard Wilbur words, "The eyes open with the cry of pulleys.
Spirited from sleep, the soul is astounded." It goes on. But that is enough.
Somewhere between the beginning of my psalm and its ending, I am moved
from a kind of bewildered muddle to rejoicing gratitude. Joining the psalmists
of the ancient scriptures--if you read them you will find just the
same path--no matter what my anticipations of the day, this sense
of gratitude that is mine, emerges.
Now I tell you this as a kind of "beginner's report" from the dawn
--not as the recommendation of an esoteric practice to add to your
already busy lives; not as a way to revert to some more primal spiritual
practice, or even as a way to be wise--but as a report of a beginner exploring
some ways of being that seem to connect beyond the pressures and pains
of my life to something more deeply sustaining.
I have no illusions about the dawn. Our lives, especially as we age,
become marked and grooved by the losses and changes of life. The questions
become increasingly unanswerable. All of this is with us at the dawn of
a day, whether we attend it in person or not.
I have no illusions about the dawn. The slate is not wiped clean. Life
does not begin anew each day. We are given it, after all, by time and history--not
a clean slate, by any means.
But in that relationship to the dawn, to the new day that is given us,
we can, I am convinced, come to a deeper understanding of what it means
to be alive--not only an intellectual understanding, but an understanding
that permeates deeply, our time and lives.
Let us rejoice, and be glad. For this day is the one we have. This
day, given to us by time, by eternity. By the giver of life and of hope.
Quest May 1996 Contents
Last updated June 12, 2005
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