The magic of a Sunday

Sundays at home deserve special mention- a sort of paradise, wherein the pressures of the world and the maddening pace of weekdays fail to penetrate. Throwing myself into the warm embrace of home, I allow myself to be enthralled by creation. 

Waking up to a Sunday morning at home is an elating feeling. It is a morning when sleep encroaches into my wakefulness. My mind is a calm empty bed of nothingness, for it is fresh from sleep, and the day ahead demands nothing of it. That is the magic of Sunday. I am awake, and yet, my mind has the tranquility of sleep. Today, the breeze, the moving clouds in the sky, the sun’s journey of ascent in the sky, the rustling of leaves, the birds, bees and butterflies making the most of these hours of the morning- they evoke a fountain of happiness within me. I am in love with all of them. They heal me of the wounds of the week- the physical wounds of exhaustion and the mental wounds of stress. Today, the world around me is bustling with activity, but I have come to a standstill. Today, I embody every spirit around me. I am the infinity of the sky…I am the bright red rose in bloom… I am the bird in flight…I am the unruly breeze blowing across the trees. In the nothingness within me, I perceive everything. No pain penetrates this vision of tranquility. I feel far removed from the pressures and pursuits of a weekday.

My relationship with this house- our mutual love for each other…our silent understanding of each other…it is hard to define. This house is a physical space that brings out the ‘me’ within. It is how this physical structure mirrors my mind, bringing into my heart the elements of nature, the way I want it to…helping me experience the love of the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth, the breeze, the trees…it is this aspect that makes us inseparable.

Thoughts I had jotted down a long time ago:

 “It is Sunday morning. I wake up to the sound of the rain outside. My room is still in darkness. I love Sunday mornings- it is that special day when nature awakens me- a slow and beautiful phenomenon, as opposed to the distressing abruptness of the alarm.

I close my eyes yet again. But this time, I am in a trance. I am still in the realms of sleep, because my mind isn’t racing. It is picking up tempo, but it isn’t racing.

I hear the pitter-patter of the rain outside, the slow orchestra of the birds, and all the sounds from the awakening world outside- but they sound distant. I begin to dream- of things I love to dream about. Is this sleep or wakefulness? :)

As I dream, the sounds of the morning slowly begin to sound closer to my ears- I hear them now, loud and clear. The rain has stopped. I open my eyes- the first rays of the sun are streaming in through the window- golden rays that flood me in their embrace, as if instilling energy into my body and soul, revitalizing me. I bask in the magic of these rays.

My eyes are now open, and I feel wide awake. I sit up in bed, stretch, and fall in love with the day ahead. This is the tempo of dawn.”