When the Extraordinary Breaks Out of the Ordinary

In the early morning, I see the end of night through a window in my house facing east. Later, walking to the kitchen, I see a dark brocade of shadowed branches against the brightening sky. Sometimes I stop what I am doing in order to observe the dawn fully. The early morning light falls like rain brightening first the treetops, then the lower branches, and finally the grass. The ordinary details of our backyard—tangle of ivy, gaping hole in the fence, heap of stones—reveal themselves first in sepia and later in soft color. Darkness is no more; I no longer see mere shadows and outlines, but the things themselves in all of their sparkling particularity. Morning has broken out of night much like the roots of new life bursting out of the dark husk of a seed.

I have long been fascinated by the morning transformation of darkness into light. It’s not simply the change from night to day. For me, the lighting of the morning sky is not merely an increase of sunlight—an event that can be easily quantified and explained. The wonder of morning light consists, rather, in the way this modest, unremarkable transition happens every day, the very definition of ordinary. It is there for me to see, but only if I am watchful, open to seeing it. 

Meister Eckhart once wrote, “No creatures can reach God in their capacity of created things, and what is created must be broken for the good to come out. The shell must be broken for the kernel to come out.” I like to interpret Eckhart’s “broken” in terms of “opened”: what is created must be opened for the good to come out. When I am open to the sunrise, then goodness—what in Ayurveda is called sattva—rushes out like morning light spilling over the horizon.

I invite you to be mindful of the many ways the ordinary everyday bursts with extraordinary goodness—if we simply open ourselves to seeing it!