Sometimes it is something as simple as writing out my feelings before I pick up my phone. Other days it is a call from a good friend or picking broccoli over a bear claw or something else that causes my eyes to open a bit wider than I normally see. Today it was the gift of a 'big boy' seat (I usually sit on the toilet) and the privilege of seeing the world from the other side of the clouds.
Without fail, the sun will shine, and if the clouds become the carpet, I can't help but be given the sense of a wide-open, blank canvas. The volcanoes remained below this fuzzy carpet this morning so the clouds remained continuous, undisturbed, as if waiting for an artist to push some colors around.
Landscape photography is witnessing as much as it is creating. While I might move my feet or adjust an angle, zoom in on Mt. Rainier alone or include the plane wing against its mighty foundation, I am not orchestrating a scene as much as I much as I am witnessing it, recording it, in an attempt to replicate what my eyes witnessed in pixelated form. Much of it is being in the right place at some time that only I can deem as 'right', but the most important thing is being open to the moment.
And so with my eyes a bit wider, the canvas outside seemed to settle in me. A new day. Something different than yesterday. Another go. Presence and intention if I can muster it. Breathing. What a beautiful world this is. What is life but a repeated attempt to be a better witness to these 'blank' canvases of days? Well, perhaps that, and this ongoing and necessary effort to love others better than yesterday. I think I just answered the purpose of life question. You're welcome.
Now go paint or write or dance or sing (but outside of the shower this time) and love, always love.
Side note: This ended up being the view of Mt. Rainier on the ride home. Seems like the canvas painter did a decent job today.
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