These past few weeks have been tough for my baby. He's been struggling a lot with stress, from work as well as a few life events that left him rather rattled. For months, I've been wishing he could see what I see - as Mary Oliver puts it in her poem below, the 'untrimmable light of the world'. There is so much beauty and joy in the world. I have my down moments like anyone - and for a long time, it was pretty dark - but through meditation, I have learnt to focus on the small things that are extraordinary in their ordinariness.

Everything is so perfect, just in this moment.

The way the light floods onto the blond of the pine in the loungeroom on a cold day, the shape of a dead flower in the vase, the bright, bright crimson of an oystercatcher's beak as it scuttles along the shore. The wind that oohs through the flue as the fire crackles, the prayer flags in flight in the vegetable garden, the ruffles of the chicken feathers as they hightail it from the rain. The orange of my new teapot. Warmly spooned in bed. Aching muscles from cutting wood, the spiralled paths of insects cut into the wattle, the red centre of trunks. Purple clouds, the burgeoning rain. The twinkle of the bells on the front porch, memories of Burma. Dried lemon verbena made fragrant with water boiled on the woodburner when the electricity goes out. Calendula flowers in winter. A fluffy blanket and a good book.

Stacked rocks, the product of someone else's mindful moment. Coasting wedgetailed eagles. Gurgling water swirling in rocks. Turquoise. Sunlight. Cloud formations - waves of clouds, mirroring the tidal push. Whales breaching. A pod of dolphins. Nippled tops of mushrooms. Blue wrens. Pelicans. Willy willys of dust down dirt tracks, rivulets of floodwater. Pine trees, pine needles, cleavers. Sweet creek water from the mountains. Mist coming in.

There is so much softness in the world. Life is perfect, if only we allow ourselves to see it that way.

And so we write a list of things to remember as we head back to work - one to remind him that no matter how tough things get, it passes. There is much joy to focus upon, though the cracks are still there. The light of the world is untrimmable.

Mindful

Everyday
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

Mary Oliver