Extra Ordinary: finding the sacred in the everyday

In the middle of a simple morning routine, I was reminded that the peace we seek is already here.

Most of my mornings begin the same.

Walk and feed the dogs. Put the kettle on. The familiar rhythm of hands reaching—tea leaves into the pot, a bowl from the cupboard, almond milk from the fridge.

Nothing unusual. A familiar routine of things to do to get the day started.

This morning, though--for a few moments--something shifted.  

As I reached into the cupboard for the cereal, as I do every morning, I noticed my hands. For just a few seconds, really noticed them. And as I did, time seemed to slow as I became aware of the energy moving through them.

In that moment I felt connected to something beyond anything I could see or touch—a force quietly, steadily pulsing beneath the surface of this most ordinary action. And I was filled with gratitude for my hands’ miraculous ability to reach, to grasp, to hold, as I continued my routine, setting the table, preparing breakfast.

But now, the simplest movements—lifting a bowl, pouring milk—felt like little miracles. It was as if I was doing these things for the first time and, at the same time, as if I had always known them this way.

For a few moments out of time, everything in me felt aligned. The pulse of my own being was in perfect rhythm with something vast and steady, something I could only name as the current of life itself.

And then, just as quietly, the moment passed.

Nothing dramatic. No clear ending. Just a return to the familiar pace and actions—pouring the milk, eating breakfast, the mind picking up where it had left off.

What remained was not so much the feeling itself, but a quiet awareness—that nothing about that moment had required a special place, a special pose, or special words. It came in the middle of an ordinary morning, in the middle of doing what I always do.

And here is the quiet truth that I took with me:

The peace and grace we long for are not somewhere else. Not waiting in a sanctuary, or a yoga studio, or in special words or motions. Not sitting somewhere at the end of a winding, arduous path.

They’re here—right here, beneath the surface of the most ordinary gestures, waiting for nothing more than our willingness to notice, to pause, to arrive.

And when we do, even if it’s just for a breath, we experience not just a temporary moment but a doorway, a threshold, something we can step into, again and again--

in the pouring of tea, in the reaching of a hand, in the quiet holiness of an ordinary morning.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash