Rest Day Ruminations: Watching The Dawn
Yes, sometimes I manage to get out of bed early ...
This is a sample of the Rest Day Ruminations posts I plan to do on some Sundays, for paid subscribers only. As the About page explains, expect eclectic musings on topics I’m interested in. Books, films, music or games; posts about life, philosophy, my writing career, or my cat. They probably won’t be every week. Ignore any posts you don’t want to read!
I’ve made this short one available to everyone so you can see the kind of thing that would reach your inbox if you threw in a few quid to support my writing.
Sometimes it’s good to step back, take a deep breath, and appreciate what is around us. That’s one of the reasons why I find it valuable to occasionally get up early in order to watch the sun rise.
I find it easier to do in the winter because the sun rises so much later. I love the way it begins in pure darkness and quiet, then you get first light as the birds awaken and the sky brightens, then – if you are lucky – you actually see the sun rise over the horizon in a blaze of orange and peach sky. It’s a contemplative time. I normally take a flask of tea with me, to keep me warm during the vigil. Have you ever got up early, specifically to watch the sun rise? Feel free to tell me about it!
In the past I wrote about some previous dawns I watched, on my old blog. Here are truncated versions of those posts, from 2013 and 2016.
21st December 2013
I once read a list of things you should try and do every year, or at least once in your life. The one that stuck in my mind was “watch the dawn”. I realised I’d never done that. I had been awake as the sun rose (usually having been up all night) but I wasn't paying attention to it, it was just something happening in the periphery. I wasn't mindful of it. There's a huge difference between conversations going on around you, and taking part in the conversations.
The idea of watching the dawn excited me, but also created some fear. Let me state this now: I AM NOT A MORNING PERSON. But I do love the outdoors, and natural scenes, and the idea of transitions. I remember the eureka moment as I read Plato's Republic over 20 years ago. It begins with Socrates returning home from a religious festival; it leads on to an all-night discussion about the nature of justice. The debate is finally wrapped up as the new day begins, and people “see the light” - metaphor and situation overlap, form fits theme, and I was impressed at the way meaning can be layered into a work. With the dawn comes new understanding. That stuck in my mind.
Plus: I’m a bit of a hippy.
So on Saturday 21st December [2013] I decided I would see the dawn. I got up before 7am, made a flask of tea and a hot water bottle, wrapped up and walked up to the top of the Cefn Llan cemetery in the dark, sat down on the bench, and spent an hour watching the sky getting lighter, listening to the changing sounds and feeling the optimism of seeing a new thing coming into being, the feeling of being privileged, experiencing changes. A journey without leaving the bench. It was special to me, so I thought I’d share it. Photos are displayed in the order in which they were taken.
After that I did an exercise class, then ran into town for a slap-up feast.
I love the transition from darkness. When I first arrived the main things you notice are artificial: streetlights, Christmas lights, the lights of cars coming over the brow of a hill. Gradually it is possible to make out huge dark clouds in the direction the sun is rising. The clouds look like distant mountains, messing with your sense of place and putting you into a valley. Not long after that there was a change, and instead of the clouds being the dark thing and the hills being invisible, it’s now possible to see the hills as darker, and the clouds fade to a more washed-out purple, so there’s a transition between the clouds as the horizon and the real horizon. It brings to mind a transition between dreams and wakefulness, the clouds representing the dreams and the reality of the world represented by the physical horizon.
21st December 2016
I am not a morning person. It is a shock to the system if I have to crack my eyes apart at some ungodly hour to do something as frivolous as watching the dawn. I first did it three years ago. Oops, I did it again. (I know, I know, but I've always wanted to say that in a blog post.)
21st December 2016, I made my flask of tea and tucked a hot water bottle into my coat and sat in a cemetery on top of a hill, watching the ghoulies go back to bed in readiness for a new day, new thoughts, and new yawns. Here, you can join me on this journey in a truncated form.
Liminal times are times for thought and consideration, times where the potential for change presents itself, times for growth and renewal. May all your dreams come true in 2017. (Unless your dreams involve nasty stuff, in which case I take it back).