Most mornings I head to the barn to feed and turn out the horses (from mid-Fall through early Spring). It was a cold morning this past winter when I was heading through my routine - I walked the 250 feet from my back door to the barn past the front pasture; I fed the horses their grain; I broke the ice off the watering trough; I put out flakes of hay for the horses to graze on in the front pasture and I was turning my wife’s swedish warmblood out into the front pasture when I heard my wife’s voice (over my iPod) and saw her frantically waving (that by the way was not part of our morning ritual). My wife was trying to get my attention - because apparently as I went through my morning routine I failed to notice the 30 foot tree that had fallen through the fence in our front pasture (25 feet of it, at least, was IN the pasture on the ground).

What, was I blind?

How could I have missed it - once I saw it - I couldn’t see anything else?! I had walked past the fallen tree, I had been in the pasture filling the trough and putting out hay - yet I had never opened my eyes beyond my own footsteps to see what had transpired in the night. Going through the motions with little to no engagement. Unaware and distant from the moment - can you say, “not present.” I wasn’t blind; I was just lacking any awareness and attentiveness to my surroundings (or is that the very definition of being, “blind”).

After that incident, (after coming to terms with, “How didn’t I see that!”) I began to reflect on, how often am I “going through the motions” and how much do I miss?

I am working on living in a more alert fashion. I am trying to slow and to live with a greater appreciation for the present. It is a slow process. It is sort of ironic that next month I am leading a spiritual retreat for folks on this very topic. I think I am learning that God often leads me to such opportunities - not because of what I can offer - but because it is how he can teach me.

I hope to hear and obey the words of Benedict in the Prologue to his Rule:

“However late, then, it may seem, let us rouse ourselves from lethargy. That is what scripture urges on us when it says, the time has come for us to rouse ourselves from sleep. Let us open our eyes to the light that shows us the way to God. Let our ears be alert to the stirring call of his voice crying to us every day: today if you should hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” [St. Benedict’s Rule, A New Translation for Today, Ampleforth Abbey Press, 1997. p. 11]