I have observed countless ceilings in my lifetime . . . As I’m sure you have even though you may not have consciously registered it.
I have seen a ceiling so beautiful, filled with ancient stone and stained glass, I nearly wept. For more years than I wish to count I viewed a ceiling riddled with cracks above my head which made me certain that one night I would be crushed when it finally fell in. I have seen a ceiling covered with tiny baby spiders, each spinning their silken threads as they launched themselves into the great unknown. And I have seen a ceiling covered with bats whose rustling could barely be detected. I have seen a ceiling painted perfect white, no spots on it, surrounded by equally perfect crown molding which served as a facade because what was contained was far less than perfect. Now I see a ceiling with a fan on it, whose blades rotate in a meditative sequence. It is not grand or beautiful, but it is the ceiling that suits me now.
My most favorite ceiling of all is the one I see when I am outside. Sometimes it is nearly black, the edges turning a fainter shade of navy as the sun makes it ascent and the stars surrender to what comes after. It is the one that at times is littered with thousands of diamonds which wink at me compelling me to cast my wishes to the wind. It is the ceiling that is the color of a robin’s egg with white clouds of cotton. It is the ceiling that becomes a tumultuous dark, dark blue and then darker still just before the heady scent of rain surrounds me. Or the ceiling that is the perfect canvas of a faultless grey just before the flakes of white float down.
I have been blessed to gaze at all these ceilings, those made by man and those made by something greater. And each time I am humbled by the opportunity . . .
Because, each time, no matter how insignificant the actual ceiling, I am grateful for a new day. A chance to get it right. A chance to breathe and truly understand the gift just a breath is.
Each day, if I do one thing, before my eyes even open, I am aware of the ceiling. And I honor that vision by giving thanks that I may open my eyes and greet a new day. Before my feet even hit the floor, as tired and cranky as I feel my self to be having to awaken at whatever hour it may be, I say thank you for the day that awaits me. I say thanks for knowing it will be a good day. For guiding me. For giving me courage and faith and hope and most of all love, even in the darker moments of which I know may come.
I am alive. In this moment. And there is nothing I could be more grateful for while I consider the ceiling.