That certain sunrise....

Sunrise on Deerfield Beach, Florida

There is a certain, almost magical look to sunrise on a beach.  It feels, for a moment or two, that anything is possible...any dream can come true, any mistake can be corrected, any pain can be overcome. 

As I watch the sky being painted in light and breathtaking swirls of pastel pinks and blues and lavenders, it seems that even a whispered word is too loud, too out of place.  Even more so than in a synagogue or church, I feel that saying anything out loud would be sacrilegious. It feels as though I am being given a glimpse into the very process of creation -- a view through G-d's eyes at all the world was meant to be. 

Over the years, sunrises on the beach have been times and places for special moments.  I said goodbye to dear friend one sunrise on a beach a little south of here.  We sat in silence, and watched as the light crept in, the colours and patterns of the morning clouds created before our eyes. We always planned to get together again someday...now years later, it has never happened. A goodbye sealed on a sunrise beach is a forever kind of farewell. I think we both knew that then, but neither of us said it. 

I've sat on sunrise beaches alone, crying for a lost dream.  And I've walked along sunrise beaches with my heart singing in joy and hope and excitement.  I've seen them alone, and with dear friends and family members.  Each time, the experience has been something unique and meaningful  You can't take sunrise on a beach for granted...it won't let you. 

The pictures on this post were taken on a breezy December morning as I sat on the beach in Deerfield Beach, an area just north of Fort Lauderdale.  Except for the one lone soul walking along the water's edge (just visible in one shot), I was alone.  It was a morning of "anything is possible" and all is right with the world. It was a perfect winter sunrise. 

I just joined a meditation and yoga group that meets once a week at sunrise on the beach. I'm excited about the prospect of greeting the sunrise with mindfulness and spirit. Whatever I see and feel there next week, I know it will be something special.  The sunrise would not have it any other way. 

(Posted in honor of Pink Saturday) 

On books and bookshelves

I've been moving my books to new bookshelves, in a new location.

Shouldn't make much difference. Shouldn't be a big deal. Still the same books, right?

But it is making a BIG difference. And I am discovering it is more of a process that a simple relocation of objects.

First, there is the removing them from the old shelves. I can't just take them off and stick them into boxes. I need to look at each one...maybe read a line or two. Remember where I got it, or who gave it to me, or what I thought about the book.

Then there is a keep or release decision to make. I have a big bag of books ready to meet new readers sometime soon. Books I read, and liked, but which seem ready to move on.

There are the books that must remain accessible and with me until the last minute. They cannot occupy a new home until I do. These books sit now, on dusty shelves with only the odd bits of paper or small treasures for company. These are the books I would take with me, if I was forced to travel light.

I am moving the books a few reusable shopping bags at a time. Boxes are too heavy and awkward for the stairs I must go down to get to my car. I find that I pick and choose as I fill the bags, as though there needs to be a relationship between the books in each.

And then when the books arrive at their new home (my soon-to-be new home), they must be placed on shelves. Another moment to look at each.

I am trying not to arrange them yet, except where size dictates a certain shelf. Big decorating books on the bottom. Paperbacks just fit into that narrow shelf.

I will arrange them on a rainy day when they have all been moved. For now, Judaica rubs elbows with physics, and mysteries sit side-by-side with a graphic novel and a book on raising ethical children.

The first two bookcases are full now. These tall black shelves stand a full foot or so higher than my old battle-scarred Bauder bookcases purchased years ago and in another state. The new shelves make the books look different. The colors of the bindings are more noticeable. The patterns they make fascinate me. I look at them, remember the travels some of these books have made, from one side of the country to the other and back again, and realize that there is almost as much to read on the outside of these books as in their pages.

I haven't moved my clothes yet. Or my furniture or my dishes or the toys. My antiques and my scrapbooking supplies still occupy their old spaces.

The books are the first to make the journey and stake out my place in a new home. And that precious few that remain on old shelves will be the last to go with me as I turn the key for the last time on my old space. Books as bookends to a new life...

Loving a person vs looking for a clone

Open letter to a friend:

The question was about love, and loving someone who was, in some ways, your perfect match, and in other ways, very different from yourself.

You love her, and yet you ended the relationship because she did not share all of your beliefs. You admit that it was the best relationship you've ever had, or believe you ever will have, and yet, you said goodbye?

I'm afraid you're confusing a clone with a partner.

A clone is exactly the same. A partner shares some aspects of your life, and differs in others.

A clone never challenges you to grow or change or question. A partner brings into the relationship new ideas, new thoughts, new vitality.

A clone can never really make the choice to love you because they are, essentially, already you. A partner makes a conscious choice to say "I love you for the things we share, and I love you for the things that make you unique and different."

A clone is the ultimate "yes man." A partner is the person who will stand by your side even when the answer is no.

A clone feeds your ego, because they already agree with everything you think. A partner is someone you love regardless of whether or not they agree with you, because it's not about feeding an ego.

To fit together and make a beautiful picture, a puzzle needs pieces of different sizes and shapes, different colors. Two pieces that are identical make one of them unnecessary.

She clearly was not looking for a clone, a duplicate puzzle piece in male form. She was happy loving a whole man who in some ways is very different from herself. And loving him, not IN SPITE OF the difference, but because of them and the way that the differences and similarities in your lives came together to make a truly magnificent picture.

Clones are relatively easy to find. There are countless chameleons among us, especially among women, who will pretend to be whatever a man wants her to be.

But real love? THAT is rare and precious and a gift beyond all measure. And I believe the very universe weeps when someone throws it away.

You clearly love her. She clearly loves you. The rest is just detail.

(Image from Sarah-land)