Seeing Fog

Over at Holy Ordinary, Brent Bill has posted an invitation to participate in a thirty day journey of seeing. This appeals to me. I did something like this during Lent of this year and found it to be enlightening and enjoyable. So I am accepting the invitation. Perhaps you will too.

This morning, I saw fog. Fog mesmerizes. It is opaque. It obscures. It hides. It moves. It thickens. It invites quietness and stillness. There is no moving quickly in fog. It bids me to go slow, to pay attention, to be careful, to be fully present in it. Fog dulls the world and narrows my focus.

This weekend, our family celebrated the life of my mother-in-law. She died on October 12 and the memorial celebration was on Saturday. As family members sat and talked together afterward and beforehand and although no one used the word fog, I got the impression that the experience was like being in a fog—a mental, emotional, and spiritual fog.

Minds were unclear, uncertain, dull. Some emotions were silent and still, some were hidden, and some were thick and moving. The focus was grief and loss. The grieving process expects slowness and attention. It obscures tomorrow and hides the unimportant. It bids us to be fully present in it.

Saturday, I saw fog drift over the Puget Sound, over the lowlands, and up the hills. It touched everything between sky and earth. It was an appropriate covering for an autumnal death. I saw fog today, and it reminded me to be present, to be still, to pay attention, and to allow a narrowing of focus. It invited me into its powerful quiescence. I accepted.

Day one of the Thirty Days of Seeing