Saturday, November 7, 2009
My commute does not permit me to see the sunrise. The sun is asleep when I go to work. Sunrise is the gift of weekends and vacations. Sunrise to me stirs the symbolism of renewal, hope, the Promised Land awaiting just over there on the horizon where I belong. This morning I was running late and my panic was quieted by the gift of the sunrise as I turned down the street to my building, my workplace. My building was a dark silhouette amidst the pink and orange sky. I was heading into the sunrise. Slowing, to drink every drop of the moment, I caught myself wondering why heroes and cowboys always ride off into the sunset. Why does their calling, their destiny and hope always begin at sunset? Flipping the image, it seems as if the horrific battles in science fiction, war or intense psychological thrillers find the living crouched in their hiding places holding the wounded with the dead littered around them. The camera pulls back and you see their faces encrusted with the grit of battle. The whites of their eyes look like holes piercing the darkness-and they see the sunrise. The battle is over, the dark night has passed. Parking the car I begin my walk to the building’s door still mesmerized by the sky’s palette. Heroes and cowboys are people thrust into a situation where their courage and heart are strong enough to save the townspeople. Their own time for salvation has not yet come. Their new day has not awakened. Those who awake in the battlefield and fox holes of life have found their own courage and heart to save the townspeople and themselves. Their day has awakened. What about me, I pondered as I walked towards the sunrise.