{"id":14243,"date":"2015-09-11T12:30:38","date_gmt":"2015-09-11T16:30:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katrinakenison.com\/?p=14243"},"modified":"2015-09-11T12:30:38","modified_gmt":"2015-09-11T16:30:38","slug":"beautiful-things","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/beautiful-things\/","title":{"rendered":"beautiful things"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"photoT<\/span>his quiet morning. My friend asleep in her bed, snuggled deep in a nest of pillows, her faithful terrier molded to the curve of her back. The gentle rise and fall of the covers, her breath coming slow and steady when I peek in to check on her.<\/p>\n

Six a.m. My shift. The house is still but for the steady tick of the kitchen clock, empty but for the two of us. What twists and turns of fate have brought us to this moment? One woman engaged in the deep inner work of letting go of life. And the other, me, still here, striving to see this world as perfect, to love it as it is.<\/p>\n

I pour coffee, slice a peach, and carry my breakfast to the back deck where the two of us have spent so many companionable, peaceful hours over the last year. The dark trees are still silhouetted against the sky. Clouds at the horizon melt\u00a0to shades of rose. The sky lightens. In the new light, dragonflies stitch invisible seams through the morning. A blue heron wings by, heading from one secret pond to another.<\/p>\n

\"photoM<\/span>y notebook is open before me, the lovely white page. I tip my full heart over and pour myself\u00a0out. A list takes shape: all the hard, sad things. It doesn\u2019t take long to write them down. Just putting words to these\u00a0feelings brings a swift,\u00a0unexpected relief, like setting down a bag full of rocks. Tears come. This, too, is a relief.<\/p>\n

And then, as I read through my list, one thing is suddenly, startlingly clear. Most of the things on it are out of my control : my friend\u2019s progressive, inevitable decline; the behavior of others; the chronic pain in my hips and lower back; the plight of Syrian refugees; the end of summer; a loved one’s harsh words; a lie I\u2019ve been told and asked to believe; deepening wrinkles and upcoming surgeries and canceled plans.<\/p>\n

For a while now I\u2019ve been stuck in this place — waiting, fragile, hurting. Feeling as if my life is on hold until I\u2019m no longer needed as a caregiver, or until I can walk and bend over without pain, or until a difficult relationship is resolved.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m wrong, of course.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not waiting. I\u2019m living.<\/p>\n

And this moment is neither \u201cgood\u201d nor \u201cbad,\u201d but simply life as it is, complex and messy and precious and beautiful: the immense mystery of a beloved\u2019s slow dying, the tenderness she inspires in those at her side, my own body growing older, the first leaves changing color, a criticism that stings, someone else’s kind words, \u00a0a ripe peach for breakfast, a blue heron in flight, a\u00a0September\u00a0day dawning.<\/p>\n

On the wooden table where I sit, there is a tiny pile of stones. I pick them up and spread them out. Hearts.<\/p>\n

\"photoA<\/span>nd with that, I begin another list. Beautiful things. I need only look up to see them.<\/p>\n

And I need only awaken to the vast, varied territory of my life in this moment to feel grateful for all I have, for all that is. I easily fill a page and then another; there is no end to these riches. Soon my heart feels full once again, but in a different way now. No longer heavy, but spacious. Buoyant, even.<\/p>\n

Perhaps this is the invisible gift offered us if we are blessed to accompany another through the final days of their journey: an invitation to go deep and to feel everything. For surely we can trust that life will offer us great joy and great sorrow, and that we are here to know both intimately, even as we grow ever more attuned to the small, daily, simple things like breathing and walking and whispering and hugging.<\/p>\n

\"photoP<\/span>aying attention changes everything. Gratitude multiplies and transforms a day, a life, the world. Choosing to see beauty creates more beauty. Nothing is on hold. Nothing lasts. Nothing is wasted. And so, this really is it: the mystery, the miracle, the pain, the joy, the whole human catastrophe. And we get to be here, now.<\/p>\n

That, surely, is a beautiful thing.<\/p>\n

And so, I find myself drawn to the idea of beauty as a\u00a0daily practice, a slight variation on the gratitude journal I\u2019ve kept on and off for years. I wonder what will\u00a0happen if I continue to begin every<\/em> day by noticing and writing down a short list of beautiful things? And I wonder what\u2019s on your<\/em> list of beautiful things, right this minute? I\u2019d love to know.<\/p>\n

All that matters is what you love<\/em><\/p>\n

and what you love is who you are<\/em><\/p>\n

and who you are is where you are<\/em><\/p>\n

and where you are is where you will be<\/em><\/p>\n

when death takes you across the river.<\/em><\/p>\n

You can’t avoid the journey but<\/em><\/p>\n

you can wake up… now<\/em><\/p>\n

and see where you’ve been<\/em><\/p>\n

and where you are going.<\/em><\/p>\n

– John Squadra, from \u201cCircle Of The One,\u201d in This Ecstasy<\/em><\/p>\n

(With thanks to Rod MacIver for sharing this poem on A Pause for Beauty<\/strong><\/a>.)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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