I was working on my sailboat yesterday, sanding and varnishing the wood to get her ready for this summer's voyages out of Shelter Island. It's very zen work if you let it be. The circular sanding. The linear brush strokes.
In the midst of my brushwork, I felt a breeze cross my face. It wasn't much of one. But it was delicious. It was soft and caressing, not quite cool, but also not warm. It simply was.
I couldn't help but think that this breeze would have been there whether I was or not. It would have skimmed over the tree tops and nudged the boats that were already on the water. But the fact that I was where I was brought it to life. At least for me. It was a moment where I became. I simply was.
I realized there is nothing miraculous about the breeze. The breeze has always been there, and it will be there long after I've gone. What was miraculous was my my relationship with it as I felt it on my face. My ability to quiet all those thoughts that were so turbulent in the week, so that I could be aware and uncluttered enough to witness this faint breath of wind.
Clear you mind so that you can enjoy the subtle joys of this earth for as long as you're on it.