31 December 2015

Morning Musing

NOVELS AT BREAKFAST

I read novels at breakfast: happy novels. There is something about morning that precludes a too-soon reality. I can believe that people can be silly and warm and dear in the morning. I can believe in their sadness, but in the morning I know their sadness will fade as the twilight fades into darkness. And I know that all will be cozy and sheltered by nightfall. No one will be lost in the forest, no one will hunger, no one will thirst, and no one will have a vast untapped longing for something by nightfall. The novel’s day encompasses me during the day and leaves spaces for reality to leak in slowly. Like oil sliding down over pebbles in a jar, reality gradually forms itself around the pebbles of my day, coating everything with its film of gentleness, never quite as rude as it could be if I were novel-free.


In the morning I know that crimes can be solved; straying sheep found, and bags of ill-gotten gains returned to their original owners. I rest in that knowledge after Morning Prayer, when I have sometimes considered all the tangles humans get themselves in (including my own tangles), and find I can bear it more easily and gracefully.

A morning prayer:

O God, this is a new day you have created. Help me to remember that with you all things are possible, even those thing I can imagine only in my wildest dreams. Let me be a blessing in your Name this day and every day. AMEN.

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