Pause

“Twilight — a time of pause when nature changes her guard. All living things would fade and die from too much light or too much dark, if twilight were not.” -Howard Thurman

Twilight, of course, is that short window when the light of day arrives but the sun has not eclipsed the horizon. Or, conversely, when the light of day hangs on after the sun has set. Either way, today neither window is short, and this phenomenon is why I love visiting the Pacific Northwest so much this time of year.

The lengthening of the days in Midsummer is exaggerated as you travel north, and these long twilights seem to go on for over an hour at times. I started observing this about three years ago, when I visited Oregon in June for the first time in many years. Repeated trips last year and this year revealed something new each time. At first about pace, but finally about pausing.

In conversation we often say that the days are getting longer, or shorter, depending on the time of the year. But, in watching these long twilights, I find myself wanting to use the words slow or quick to describe the day. The sun is moving across the same amount of sky, it is just doing this very slowly in the summer months and very quickly in the winter months. So quickly, I would say, that if you aren’t paying attention in the days of December and January you might miss the sunrise or sunset completely. If you go to take a long shower or call a friend, you might see the sun as you leave the room and then return to the darkness of night. In June and July, on the other hand, it seems impossible to miss. The pace of the sun is so slow it seems to pause in its ascent or descent as soon as you pay attention to it. And for this reason, ironically, I have noticed myself spending more time in the dark this summer than I did six months ago.

I would say at least every other night I have caught myself — in the middle of a movie, a conversation, reading a book — sitting in the dark; for the daylight had gone, but my eyes had been adjusting during the whole journey and hadn’t noticed. This invitation of pace, a slow pace that is deliberate, takes its time and is filled with pauses, is easy to find around the home — if you are adjusting to it. During the winter months this changing of the guard, as Thurman put it, is so sudden we quickly turn on the lamp and remain in the light. But if you can slow down so that you have time to pause and adjust, pause and adjust; pause and adjust. Pause, and adjust. You just might begin to see in ways you didn’t realize you could.

May you have time and patience to slow down during these slow days. May you enter into the deep relaxation that summer abounds in, and make all the adjustments that your life has been asking you to make. And as your eyes come into focus in a fresh perspective, may you come to notice that how you see is often more important than what you see. And may you, my friend, never miss those twilights that are regularly occurring within your being.