Sitting at my lap top, wondering how to begin a personal greeting to our friends, many of whom had sent us lovely notes, letters, pictures, and cards, my husband, Jon, and I feel inert. We are not ready to produce anything to share publicly. I am feeling tired and he is feeling sad. So we sit and ruminate.
As we conclude our reflective interlude between dinner and a movie, these thoughts come to me: that opportunities are not missed, what we do is enough and there is a lot going on behind the scenes that we cannot see.
I know these things are true, because I had experienced the first two earlier in the evening. Jon had come home from work eager to talk about his feelings. Somehow, in the jumble of transitioning into the dinner hour, I was tempted to feel that I had blown it, that somehow I had dropped a tender ball tossed to me, or lost it. But after dinner, I refuted that inner judgment, returning our conversation to an earlier comment that Jon had made and then we simply continued talking from there. The opportunity to welcome the thoughts of his heart were not lost and picking up a few lines from an earlier conversation was enough. Together we could sustain our contemplation.
And of course, we all know that much is occurring invisible to us, that diminishes or nurtures all of life. Yet, it is easy to become discouraged seeing what we do see and knowing what we do know. So, am I glad to be reminded that I do not see or know the whole picture.
What makes an epiphany, a sudden intuitive realization? The realization is rarely new information, but rather is a part of truth that was submerged in our thoughts and is at this moment relevant.