The Small Things You Walked Past

Take refuge in your senses, open up to all the small miracles you rushed through.

Refuge is a strange word for the senses, since we usually treat them as doors to rush through. This morning, attention might be as plain as the weight of the cup in your hand, the first warmth reaching your palm before you drink. The sound of a floor under your feet. Nothing has to be lovely. It only has to be received once, fully, before the next thing asks for you.