Eyes Wide Open
The mundane and the sacred are one and the same.
—Alan Watts
If I awoke one morning and knew, somehow, that this was going to be my last day, I don't think I'd choose to empty the dishwasher, pay my credit card bill or spend an hour on the phone with Apple trying to get my computer to back up. I wouldn't get lost in my inbox, swallowed whole by Facebook, or trapped for an hour at Ulta looking for the perfect lip liner. I'd say no to The NY Times crosswords and games. And I would not close my eyes for a single moment.
I'd want my eyes to be wide open, along with every door and window, to drink in the colors of the sky, the elegance of longleaf pines. To gaze deeply into my beloved's eyes. Food would not be necessary, but a cup of tea might taste like love. With my favorite pen, I'd pour out my heart to the sisters, brothers and children given to me through birth and spirit. I'd walk barefoot outside to feel the grass under my feet, and if the wind were favorable, breathe in the salt coming off the ocean one last time.
Of course, today is not likely to be my last day. I need to go the dentist, make an Amazon return, schedule the refrigerator repairman. Friends are coming for lunch, and I want to play Wordle and Spelling Bee.
But, in between, I promise myself that I will dance my partner around the kitchen, practice kissing the earth with my feet. So that when the last day comes, even emptying the dishwasher could become a prayer.
La Villa Aurelia
Tufa is a type of limestone made of volcanic material,
often found near hot springs and widely seen in the area
of the Bay of Naples, Italy.
I dream in blues and whites.
Blue sky, blue sea, blue walls.
Hand-painted tiles with blue flourishes
on polished white floors.
White boats by the hundreds on the Bay of Pozzuoli,
streaks of white wake behind them.
White Lego villages on the hillsides,
clothes drying on a rack in the white sun.
I disappear into crisp, white sheets,
finger the raised pattern
of the cotton jacquard coverlet,
white on white.
Other colors, too.
Creams and grays—the yellow tufa
of the ancient mountains, temples, Roman walls.
Espresso—not just the coffee
but the color of the young men’s hair.
Golden browns, the color of crust on Italian bread.
Honey-browns, the color of the young women’s skin.
But it’s the blues and whites that stop me.
Colors of the Mediterranean,
colors of this living dream.
Jennifer Read Hawthorne is author/coauthor of eight books, including the #1 New York Times bestsellers Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul and Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul, and a book of poems, Life as a Prayer. Her poems, which often express her love of beauty and mysticism, have also been published in several books and online publications, including On the Veranda Literary Journal and Soul-Lit: A Journal of Spiritual Poetry. Jennifer lives in Vero Beach, Florida, where she enjoys writing, spiritual practice, and swimming in the wild Atlantic.
The mundane and the sacred are one and the same.
—Alan Watts
If I awoke one morning and knew, somehow, that this was going to be my last day, I don't think I'd choose to empty the dishwasher, pay my credit card bill or spend an hour on the phone with Apple trying to get my computer to back up. I wouldn't get lost in my inbox, swallowed whole by Facebook, or trapped for an hour at Ulta looking for the perfect lip liner. I'd say no to The NY Times crosswords and games. And I would not close my eyes for a single moment.
I'd want my eyes to be wide open, along with every door and window, to drink in the colors of the sky, the elegance of longleaf pines. To gaze deeply into my beloved's eyes. Food would not be necessary, but a cup of tea might taste like love. With my favorite pen, I'd pour out my heart to the sisters, brothers and children given to me through birth and spirit. I'd walk barefoot outside to feel the grass under my feet, and if the wind were favorable, breathe in the salt coming off the ocean one last time.
Of course, today is not likely to be my last day. I need to go the dentist, make an Amazon return, schedule the refrigerator repairman. Friends are coming for lunch, and I want to play Wordle and Spelling Bee.
But, in between, I promise myself that I will dance my partner around the kitchen, practice kissing the earth with my feet. So that when the last day comes, even emptying the dishwasher could become a prayer.
La Villa Aurelia
Tufa is a type of limestone made of volcanic material,
often found near hot springs and widely seen in the area
of the Bay of Naples, Italy.
I dream in blues and whites.
Blue sky, blue sea, blue walls.
Hand-painted tiles with blue flourishes
on polished white floors.
White boats by the hundreds on the Bay of Pozzuoli,
streaks of white wake behind them.
White Lego villages on the hillsides,
clothes drying on a rack in the white sun.
I disappear into crisp, white sheets,
finger the raised pattern
of the cotton jacquard coverlet,
white on white.
Other colors, too.
Creams and grays—the yellow tufa
of the ancient mountains, temples, Roman walls.
Espresso—not just the coffee
but the color of the young men’s hair.
Golden browns, the color of crust on Italian bread.
Honey-browns, the color of the young women’s skin.
But it’s the blues and whites that stop me.
Colors of the Mediterranean,
colors of this living dream.
Jennifer Read Hawthorne is author/coauthor of eight books, including the #1 New York Times bestsellers Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul and Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul, and a book of poems, Life as a Prayer. Her poems, which often express her love of beauty and mysticism, have also been published in several books and online publications, including On the Veranda Literary Journal and Soul-Lit: A Journal of Spiritual Poetry. Jennifer lives in Vero Beach, Florida, where she enjoys writing, spiritual practice, and swimming in the wild Atlantic.
