Looking at Life: Independence Day

As the sun slowly descended below the horizon, the sky over the lake changed from a brilliant red to streaks of lavender, and finally, to deepest midnight blue. Stars began to peek from behind quickly-moving clouds, seeming to corral around the majesty of the full moon, whose reflection danced across the water in ribbons of floating light.

The crowd gathered on the beach became slightly restless, glancing upwards expectantly, as small children raced around giggling, splashing at the water's edge. The scent of mosquito spray hung in the air, mixed with the lingering aroma of grilled meat, ketchup, and potato salad.

As if on cue, the hum of many conversations simultaneously lowered to a whisper, when suddenly from the opposite shore came the sound of quiet thunder, as a smoky arc climbed gracefully into the air, and as all heads tilted upward to watch, an explosion of color burst across the heavens, followed by gently-falling spirals of light. A chorus of unrehearsed "Oohs" and "Aahs" rose up and - as quickly - fell away, until the next thunderous launch began. Each display was more brilliant than the one before, whether individual twinkling stars of light, or short, generational bursts of spidered reds, greens, and blues.

While those around me continued to look up, I felt myself drawn not to the brilliance of the heavens, but to the light shining from the faces of those around me. There were old people and young people; parents and children; groups of teens; and groups of one. my mind began to wander back to other fourth of July fireworks displays, and it occurred to me that in this celebration, I brought with me a timeline of my own life: cookouts hurriedly finished when I was a child, so my parents, sister, and I could all pile into the car to go to a local park. The first time I went with my boyfriend, instead of my parents; the first time I went with my husband, instead of my boyfriend; and shortly thereafter, how I took my own children to celebrate our country's birth, starting the cycle once again, as so many had done before me.

In that moment on the moonlit beach, there were not differences among us, we were all connected through the history of the celebration of our own personal lives; observers if you will, of not only the beauty before us, but witnesses to our own independence and growth that was reflected through the light within us.

So, as you go through the coming week, I would ask that you hold onto the joy and celebration of this holiday weekend, and that within that embrace, you hold fast to the celebration that is your life!

Intuitively Yours
Nan O'Brien