I’ve taken thousands of photos of sunrises.

One thing I love about my life is that I’ve created a front row seat to sunrises.

Being witness to this unfolding of beauty every morning puts me in harmony with the vibration of wealth.

Sunrises feel wealthy to me.

 

Moving about my home in the darkness, watching the pre-light change, the anticipation flows.

I run downstairs to grab my camera (best to keep it out of children’s reach) and run (literally, light changes every instant) out to my deck.

I frame the shots and start snapping.

My son has watched me enough to where he’s caught my bug. This morning he went out on the deck with me in his jammies (the temperature was in the mid-teens) and he learned to click the shutter.

 

 

I wrote a note about sunrises on Facebook (where I post lots of these photos), and someone wrote saying they preferred sunsets.

Certainly, I enjoy a good sunset too.

But given the choice, I’ll choose a sunrise every time.

 

Sunrises are full of possibility.

Sunrises are full of MOMENTUM.

Sunrises strike a note. Sunrises set a tone. Sunrises move the day wonderful, wanted direction.

 

And almost as wonderful as witnessing sunrises?

Capturing some aspect of them to stimulate creativity and sharing them with other people.

 

 

 

One of my earliest memories takes me to a beach in Maine.

I’m with my family.

I’m around four years old.

I look to the sky over the ocean. It’s getting late in the afternoon.

There’s something colorful up in the sky. I learn that it’s called a box kite. I’d never seen one before. I wonder how it flies.

I watch it float, dive and rise. Mostly is just hangs above the ocean, far away from its pilots – another family down the beach.

Something about the kite makes me want to feel my power.

 

Sitting on the beach, I lift my hand to the sky and create scissors with my two fingers.

I can’t even see the kite string, it’s so far away. But I snip.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And the kite flies free. I did it.

I DID IT!

I don’t remember anything about the kite-flying-family’s reaction.

I am too much in love with my power to create and their business is not my business.

I watch the kite rise higher in the sky and deeper over the ocean.

Buzzing, I tell my siblings of my power. No one seems to believe me or pays much attention.

But I know…

 

I discovered my power that day. Or rather, I remembered my power that day.

Four decades later,  I still remember that box kite because it was a Moment of Knowing.

Pure Knowing.

 

Sometimes I temporarily forget my power. In this, I am not alone.

During those times, I see myself as the untethered box kite, a passenger to the whims of the winds.

But eventually I remember… Eventually I look down upon my trusty, powerful scissor fingers.

And when I do, I see it… I see the thin white kite string wound around my hand. Around and around.

The string is always in my hand, even when I forget it’s there.

 

In fact, I think I forget sometimes for the simple reason that it feels so thrilling to remember.

Because every time I remember, I am four years old.

On a beach. In Maine…