Morning Symphony

Listening to the Sounds of Life

Most mornings begin the same: I wake with first light, tiptoe downstairs, make a cup of tea, and head outside. I slip into my favorite chair in the garden, rearrange my body into a pose of ease, and exhale.

I imagine I've settled into a seat in my favorite music hall, just before the concert begins. In my mind I envision a conductor walking across the stage, climbing onto his perch in front of the orchestra, positioning his baton in the air, ready to begin. My spine lifts in wakeful anticipation. I wrap my fingers around the warm cup of moonlight jasmine tea.

And then the sunrise symphony begins. I close my eyes and let my attention settle into the sounds all around. First I hear the birds - cardinals calling, nuthatches drumming, chickadees ringing out. Then I notice the trees rustling in the breeze. Cars rumble. A dog yowls. Squirrels chitter nearby. An acorn hits the ground.

As I settle into this morning sound bath, my whole body softens. Muscles relax. Breath grows easy. Mind grows spacious and clear. I have one job here: to receive all that is offered in these first few moments of the day, just as they are, with a welcoming and attentive spirit.

In this wakeful early-morning presence, I imagine every sound is deliberate, offered as a small note in some larger song of life. I suspend my usual judging habit of declaring sounds good or bad, wanted or unwanted, right or wrong. Instead I accept all that I hear as some sort of perfection, as if every sound has been chosen to create a beautiful symphony from beyond.

I smile to imagine a composer scribbling notes across a gigantic score, orchestrating the morning as it emerges from the night. Birdsong here, wind there. A few measures of traffic rumbling, taken over by wind-song through the trees, and then the birds return. A bluejay squawks. Pigeons coo. Silence takes hold as the sun peeks over the trees.

What if - instead of being a cacophony of random sounds - all of this is meant to be? What if there is some greater order to the world - a perfection even - that my small mind can't quite comprehend? What if my job is not to judge but to simply witness and to gratefully engage? Something within brightens as I consider this possibility. With just a slight shift in perspective, even barking dogs and ambulance sirens can be welcomed wholeheartedly - and even appreciated - as vital and necessary sounds amid the symphony of our lives.

This is so unlike most of life, when the brain offers a running commentary about every passing moment, spouting on about what we like and don't like, how we feel and don't feel, who we are and who we aren't, and whether the world around us is good, bad, right or wrong. What a relief to suspend this mental noise for a little while and accept the world just as it is, with no need to judge or micromanage. How happy it feels to trade the urge to control for the willingness to connect with this amazing spectacle of life, right here and right now.

Some days this morning-tinged listening meditation is enough. Other days I broaden my awareness to include sights, smells and sensations: the lush green canopy of leaves, the a hint of lavender wafting through the air, the last yellow flower in the garden. Eyes blink, lungs fill and empty, belly rumbles. I welcome all of these sensations as if they are exactly what is needed to make this singular moment radiant and whole.

If I'm really on a roll - and if the tea is strong enough - I even let my thoughts enter into this imagined morning symphony, becoming part of the composer's score. Here comes rumination about yesterday's conversation. And now warm surge of love for a child. A worry, a fantasy, a plan. These, too, come and go. I envision them not as troubles or delights but as gifts of engagement and connection: a woman, sitting here in the morning light, caring about the world and doing the best she can to share a little light, a little music of her own, with the greater world.

The sunrise symphony ends when the last sip of tea has been savored. I pause and envision the morning musicians standing and taking a bow. The conductor beams with pride. Another day, another performance, another moment of presence has been shared with appreciation and whole heart. And at least one soul in the audience, rapt and attentive, has received the day as a gift, as light, as one more opportunity to say yes to this miracle of life, whatever sounds it may bring.