Attention! Attention!
What is there still to be noticed, on the same quarter-mile neighborhood loop I walk twice daily? Each day starts and ends in repetition, but so much remains to be Seen: the shape of that tree, the small white flowers blooming; the way a small trickle forms along the curb when the water main on the corner overflows; a bush of peonies recently bloomed, only to be felled by their own weight after a heavy rain.
Down the street there's a pond with duck, geese, and, if you're lucky, a great blue heron. That's a place to go, if you really want to be in the world itself. To say there are other songbirds feels useless when their names go unknown; bird watchers rich with their currency of attention.
Hank the Greenbelt Cat might have the best life a cat could ask for—but pedal past too quickly and you’ll miss him. Nothing gets my attention like a cat out in the world. That insatiable desire to prove that you’re friendly, that you could be their friend. Hank already has hundreds of friends—his Instagram account even says so—but I try nonetheless.
To talk about this idea—Attention—feels quite lofty and highbrow. Five years ago I might have shared some naïve instruction for how to achieve a state of attentiveness. Simply put, this year feels different, as if I’ve been granted attention instead of sought it out—for it will surely slip through one’s fingers if pursued too intently. As the seasons change, summer evenings glowing golden for hours, attention feels like water from a steady spring; while it comes forth, I will drink.
"The present moment is the only aperture through which the soul can pass out of time into eternity, through which grace can pass out of eternity into the soul, and through which love can pass from one soul in time to another soul in time.”
-Aldous Huxley
Thanks for this reminder, Kyle. I'll do my best to keep it with me on my walks this week.