Each day has a ritual that begins with the sun rising and
ends with the sun setting. The night has
its own ritual of the moon. These
rituals are solemn and always occur.
There is never a day they do not perform their duties, and man draws
great comfort from this whether he realizes it or not. It is a rock on which he can depend and
rely. Unimportant irritations may come
and go randomly and brazenly in his life, but the sun and moon will always be
there, performing their ritual at the exact moment ordained. When all seems to fail in life, when the best
of plans lie in sorrow and ruin, there is the sun and moon waiting for us as
they have always waited for us.
 |
| Always. |
And the year does the same thing. Day by day it goes from January to December. The ritual of the seasons in conjunction with
the sun and moon goes on unimpeded as always.
The snow gives way to the rain and mud, which gives way to the rebirth
of greenery and animals, which gives way to the scorching sun and then the ripening
of everything and then the harvest, and finally this gives way to the rut and
the dead of winter with its ice and snow.
It is the same ritual day after day, year after year, altered only by
the climate in which one lives. But it
is always there. Always reliable.
What a gift that is.
The continuity, the purpose, the solemn and confident marching forward,
sure in step and destination. The
knowing of one’s place and function. What
a perfect example life gives us if only we will listen. I know in my own day-to-day living, things go
best and smoothest and most peaceful when I follow my ritualistic day. Awake at a certain hour, coffee and
breakfast, the chores of the day inside and outside, the cooking of meals, the
washing up, and finally reading in bed and then sleep.
Day in and day out year after year, some might say this
is boring. But it is not. It is comforting and provides peace and
strength, purpose and history and ancestry.
There is room for small surprises and fun, and even these are often
holiday rituals performed yearly. Life is
a fabric, an enormous weaving, and you and I are threads woven into the vast
cloth. We are a part of the ritual, and
when we recognize this and we play our part, our lives run like clockwork. Sometimes there is joy and sometimes there is
hard work and pain, but this is all part of the elaborate tapestry into which
we are woven into a picture with the warp and weft, the day and night, the sun
and moon.
