What began as a survival mechanism in the brutally difficult first two-thirds of the last month turned into a kind of daily ritual. Right before or after lunch, I sit on my terrace in a chair facing the sun. I meditate with my eyes closed, clearing my mind, watching the variations of colors, ranging from pale gold to dark reddish purple through the lids of my eyes. I sat today, listening to the wind rush through the palms and feeling it upon my face, half-aware of the colors, warmed by the sun washing over me. So unlike my mind in the last three months or so, I was in a state of tranquil bliss.
I was startled by a hum and vibration of air that almost brushed by right ear. Thinking at first it was some dangerous insect, I jerked up and opened my eyes. Immediately I recognized what it had been, and as confirmation saw the hummingbird shoot off into the air and out of sight. I suppose I couldn’t help my reaction.
But I still feel a lesson was being shown to me. If I had stayed still and simply opened my eyes, I would have been rewarded with the presence of a hummingbird hovering so close I could touch it. Perhaps it was my stillness, within me and without, that drew it near. But then I reacted in fear. When we are afraid, the beauty of the universe shies away from us. If we have the composure to be still, to watch and listen, when encountering something new and strange, we may be given the gift of a wondrous sight, maybe even a revelation. Life, the reality operating behind the scenes of the material world, is trying to engage us, to reveal itself. We just have to not react in fear. We just have to be still and wait and watch, at least for a moment. Who knows what may be revealed to us?