Lately, when I sit in the late afternoon watching the sunset through my family room door wall, I’m aware of the beauty of this time of day. For photographers, this is called the Golden Hour. The slanting of the sun, shining through the trees and shrubs gives a glow you don’t get at other times of the day. It’s one of the best times to take photos.
This time brings a combination of peace, wistfulness, and melancholy for me. It’s so quiet—all the noise of the day has settled including inside me. I feel pleasure in knowing what I’ve accomplished today that was important, fun, or meaningful. I went to the museum, I got my travel arrangements made, I made a good meal, I spent time with my fiancee and I made some phone calls I needed to make. A good day.
Sometimes I feel a longing for the day to start over with a fresh start and have another chance. But the day is over, never to return.
On the days I’ve accomplished something, even as mundane as several loads of laundry, I feel satisfied, like I haven’t wasted my time. I’m aware that there are fewer days ahead of me than behind. There’s also a feeling that I should have accomplished more. That propels me into feeling dissatisfied, even though a moment before I was calm and enjoying the beauty of the moment.
Watching this impermanent flow of thoughts, feelings, and emotions, I sense the deeper meaning of impermanence. The rush of time, the preciousness of what we have right now. The desire for more, all mixed up together. Is it that way for you?
What am I really talking about? Impermanence, my mortality, the winding down of my life, dukkha?
The Buddha talked about the sources of dukkha, unsatisfactoriness, unhappiness and stress for all: birth, aging, sickness, and death. I wonder more and more if this is the last spring or summer I’ll have.
The Buddha taught that there are three kinds of dukkha. The first kind is physical and mental pain from the inevitable stresses of life like old age, sickness, and death. The second is the distress we feel as a result of impermanence and change, such as the pain of failing to get what we want and of losing what we hold dear. Like my holding on to a beautiful day. The third kind of dukkha is a kind of existential suffering, the angst of being human, of living a conditioned existence and being subject to it vagaries.
As I look outside my doorway into my garden on this late afternoon summer day, the flowers on my patio are in full bloom, my tomatoes are growing in pots, and everything is a vibrant green. A time for rest—for nature, but not for me. What keeps me from enjoying my time of rest? This constant pressure to do, not to just be. I know this isn’t the path of mindfulness, yet this other habit is strong too.
Setting aside time to meditate helps but soon after, I feel the pressure start again. I don’t want to be that busy. I don’t have to be busy now at this stage of my life. I’m retired. I’ve paid my dues so to speak. Maybe just seeing it, and recognizing it for what it is is enough. The bittersweet winding down of my life.
As I sit with the darkening day, I begin to look forward to the evening. What will I do tonight? What is left to do? What do I want to do with this evening? What moves me now without planning? What moves me in the direction of connection or aloneness tonight? Rather than using a force of will to accomplish things, what speaks to me? Isn’t there a quiet voice who wants to be heard? What does she say? Do you know what I mean? This voice is so quiet usually. Maybe we ignore it in the busyness of the day.
Last year I had minor foot surgery, and walking was difficult with a heavy boot on. Going up and down the stairs was a challenge, taking each step singly so I didn’t trip or fall. It forced me to consider what and how I could do the simplest things. How am I going to take the laundry down to the basement and bring it back up? How am I going to get my breakfast cereal? It really slowed me down to focus less on what I wanted to do or needing to do that day to focus on the simple things now—how am I going to walk up the stairs safely, get my slacks on, sleep with this boot and my foot elevated, etc. Luckily I had help or it would have been so much more difficult.
It also forced me to recognize how I felt waiting. Just waiting and no more. How does it feel not to be able to accomplish all the things you want to do? How do you feel being waiting on for your meals? Yech. I must admit, it was uncomfortable. I’ve always done it myself.
Time in the waning days of my life. Wanting to enjoy every minute, be active, accomplish things, and hear the quiet voice inside that tells me what is really important.
Do you have that voice? What does it say?
I invite you to listen to that voice in your meditation.
“Evening – Thuya Garden, Mt. Desert Island, Maine” by UGArdener is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 
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Beautiful description of sitting in the gloaming, Erica. Your green thumbs have helped create a lovely garden to appreciate and delight in. Metaphorically, being mindful of being in the ‘golden hour’ of our life highlights more being, less doing. Hope your foot has healed in good time and you are breathing easily with each new day. Acceptance and appreciation are beautiful in action. Be well.