Sunday, June 10, 2001
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Sunday, June 10, 2001 |
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Pondering the joy of pondering By MARY JANE HOLT
There's doing and there's being. There's thinking and then there's pondering. When I get to thinking, it is usually with a goal in sight. A decision I have to make. A plan I have to come up with. A way to make the plan work. When I set to pondering, however, there is no goal to be set, or reached. Pondering is something you do in and of itself. If you ponder on a regular basis and get lucky, a rare epiphany might even fall across your path. Usually, epiphanies just fall, though. No thinking or pondering is really required. When they come, they come, and you are never the same afterward. Pondering can change you too, though. What I've been pondering this week is perspective. What it means. How it affects us. How nothing escapes the influence of perspective. No animate or inanimate thing. What set off this spell of pondering was a sunset. And a brilliant pink sunset it was. A zillion shades with golden light filtering through all the puffy little pink layers. A magnificent expanse of color that looked like God took a brush, and with two or three grand swoops, impressed me to no end. Not that God needs or wants to impress me. He just does. Daily. So, I'm sitting on the front porch, rocking quietly, staring into this exquisite celebration of the day's end. Then I saw the first plane. Actually, I didn't see the plane itself, just the little stream of white that tells you it's up there as it progresses across the sky. It approached my pink pallet from the northeast. Almost at the same time I caught sight of another plane making an approach from the southeast. In a matter of minutes their paths crossed (from my perspective). More than likely they were actually hundreds of miles apart. Probably couldn't even see one another from their perspectives, but I saw them and it looked to me like their paths crossed. I wondered what the folks aboard those planes thought of my royal sunset. Did they see it like I did? Could they see it all? Then suddenly I was aware of Daniel sitting to my right. He was quiet. Spellbound, I guessed, by my sunset. For it was his, too. And yours. I suppose it belonged to all the inhabitants of the earth. But I realized as I sat there silently, rocking softly, totally mesmerized by the beauty that laced the sky before me, that nobody, not another living soul, not even Daniel, who sat four or five feet over from me, could see that sunset with the same perspective that I had. Nobody. I know there are those who will declare that the sunrise is just as pretty or prettier. So while I'm pondering this matter of perspective I suppose I have to allow for everyone's unique take on how they perceive any given moment in time. It's just that for me the sunrise is too soon gone. The day calls and I can't hold on to it the way I can embrace the splendor of a setting sun. Morning demands that I go about my business, whereas, at night, I can go to bed still pondering a beautiful sunset. Actually, I don't stare into the sun as it sets. What I call staring into the sunset is gazing at what the setting sun leaves behind. The effect of its rays on the sky and clouds and the tree, field or waterline. That would be the horizon, I suppose. The right terminology does not matter to me. Pondering doesn't require real words, or pen, or paper, just a spot of time and a willing mind and heart. That's another thing. You can think with your mind alone but when you ponder, your heart frequently leads. Of course, all the named senses, and some that aren't named yet, also can get involved. Pondering is time-consuming and perhaps one of the most rewarding activities known to man, since it affects both our doing and our being. Indeed, it is in pondering that we define the difference between doing and being. And don't let anybody kid you here. This is not one of those fine line situations. There's doing and there's being. You can just get by at both or you can really shine at one or the other, or both. Don't know how to tell the difference? Just ponder a while and it'll all come to you.
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