Morning Greeting / Evening Goodnight

“When you arise in the morning,

give thanks for the morning light.“

Tecumseh

We are of earth and sky, formed from clay according to many religions, and made of stardust the scientists say.  And yet so often we go about our days forgetful of this most basic fact. Out of necessity and habit, we live mostly within the ephemera of our thoughts, from contemplating our to-do list to imagining a friend is angry because she hasn’t responded to a text. We may even go through our days with a vague homeless feeling, a sense of unease, unaware that we have abandoned our bodies and the place they inhabit.

A simple way I’ve found to help bring me home again is to greet the day soon after I rise and to say goodnight just before I retire. It takes as long as I want, from mere seconds up to fifteen minutes, depending on my needs and the events of the day.

After I wake in the morning, I make tea. Then I carry the cup of hot tea to the front or back door. If the weather is unaccommodating or time is tight, I merely open the door, breathe in the new day, and take in all the early morning smells – dewy grass, the scent of an upcoming or recently visited rain-shower, crisp fallen leaves, wood smoke, the sharp scent of frost. Whatever it is, I take it in and give thanks for the day. If there’s time and I’m so inclined, I may sit a while on the front or back porch and watch the early light gather.

At night before bed, the practice is similar. I open the door to the outside world, making sure the porch light is off, and, as a poet friend once put it, “breathe in the stars.”  The smells differ in the evening and can offer clues to the day’s activities – the lingering scent of grilled hamburger, cut grass, burned leaves, engine oil. Once again, I give thanks, this time for the day at its end and all the encounters offered, even those I may have experienced as annoyances or irritations. I give thanks and let go. In the darkness, too, I take a moment to sense the living things around me – trees, plants, the spider in her web under the porch railing, the nightingale sending up a few final notes.            

When I’m consistent with these morning and evening acts, I’m reminded at least twice a day that I belong to this good earth and am a sibling to all its inhabitants.