Sunrise/Sunset: A Practice for Awakening a Weary Soul

Sunrise layers of pink, blue and orange over bare winter trees

Slipping into Rhythm With the Earth, the Divine, Your Inner Landscape

Join the earth each morning for sunrise and each evening for sunset for one week*. Behold the sky in silence and stillness.

This practice is inspired by the late Irish poet and theologian, John O’Donohue. In Anam Cara, he writes…

“If you have ever had occasion to be out early in the morning before dawn breaks, you will have noticed that the darkest time of night is immediately before dawn. The darkness deepens and becomes more anonymous. If you had never been to the world and never known what a day was, you couldn’t possibly imagine how the darkness breaks, how the mystery and color of a new day arrive. Light is incredibly generous, but also gentle. When you attend to the way the dawn comes, you learn how light can coax the dark. The first fingers of light appear on the horizon, and ever so deftly and gradually, they pull the mantle of darkness away from the world. Quietly before you is the mystery of a new dawn, the new day.

Emerson said, ‘No one suspects the days to be Gods.’ It is one of the tragedies of modern culture that we have lost touch with these primal thresholds of nature. The urbanization of modern life has succeeded in exiling us from this fecund kinship with our mother earth. Fashioned from the earth, we are souls in clay form. We need to remain in rhythm with our inner clay voice and longing. Yet this voice is no longer audible in the modern world. We are not even aware of our loss, consequently, the pain of our spiritual exile is more intense in being largely unintelligible.

The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Nighttime is womb-time. Our souls come out to play. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression falls away. We rest in the night. The dawn is a refreshing time, a time of possibility and promise. All the elements of nature—stones, fields, rivers, and animals—are suddenly there anew in the fresh dawn light. Just as darkness brings rest and release, so the dawn brings awakening and renewal. In our mediocrity and distraction, we forget that we are privileged to live in a wondrous universe. Each day, the dawn unveils the mystery of this universe. Dawn is the ultimate surprise; it awakens us to the immense “thereness” of nature. The wonderful subtle color of the universe arises to clothe everything. This is captured in a phrase from William Blake: ‘Colours are the wounds of light.’ Colors bring out the depth of secret presence at the heart of nature.”

Make this Practice Your Own - Optional Add-Ons:

  • Take a mental picture. Tuck it into your memory to be retrieved as needed.

  • Take an actual photo of some of the displays that move you most. The images in this post are images I’ve carried with me. Add your favorite photo to a place you’ll see it often, like your phone or computer wallpaper. Allow it to rekindle the experience occasionally. See if you can drop into a present moment experience of being there. Tune into sensation, feeling.

  • At the end of the week, take time to reflect on your experience. What is it like to join the Earth’s rhythms with such intention? What do you wish to carry with you?


*If this rhythm is unavailable, start by bringing your full attention to one sunset, and see where it goes. There is no right or wrong here.

The sun sets in bright yellow and orange between the clouds and swampy shore at low tide

PRESENCE + SPACE | WITNESS + WITH-NESS

My name is Kirsten. Come and journey with me in spacious accompaniment/spiritual direction. It is a place to attune to your inner experiences over time, a place to ask questions and excavate intuitions in the spacious presence of a fellow traveler. I meet clients online and in person on Vashon-Maury Island in WA.

 
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Trees, a poem by Howard Nemerov