The gate is always waiting.
Sixteen years ago,
When I moved into my house,
I began transforming the front and backyards into spaces that felt more alive,
More adventurous.
I pulled out the lawns and laid meandering flagstone paths.
In the back,
I built a small pond with a fountain.
In the front,
I planted fruit trees and trained them to grow up and over an arbor so I could reach up and pluck fruit right from the path.
At the end of that path stood a gate.
I welded pieces of metal onto it in the shape of a yin-yang symbol.
I had originally planned a rose design,
Rose being the name of the street that borders my house,
But at the last moment that ancient Chinese symbol called to me.
It so perfectly represented my life at the time that I changed course without hesitation.
As spring approached that year,
I finally acted on something that had lived on my to-do list for a long time.
I'd always been drawn to structures like Stonehenge,
Built by ancient civilizations that aligned with the sun at sacred moments in the year.
Now,
Spring has always stirred something primal in me,
Something that hums in a deep place in my soul.
So my idea was a simple,
Small sundial that would mark the exact place on the horizon where the sun rises on the spring equinox.
That year it fell on March 21st.
So on the afternoon of March 20th,
I went into the front yard and set a four-foot metal pole in the ground.
On top of it,
I welded a small disc about five inches across with a single peg rising from its center.
My plan was to wake before dawn,
Wait for the first light,
And let the shadow of that center peg fall across the disc,
And wherever the shadow crossed the rim,
I would weld a second small peg,
A permanent marker of that moment.
I woke just before dawn on the 21st.
I poured a cup of coffee and went out and stood beside the disc in the cool,
Quiet air.
The world was still.
Then the sun cleared the horizon.
The center peg dropped its shadow.
I placed a tiny peg in line with it and clamped it carefully in place.
The welding could wait.
First things first,
I wanted to finish my coffee and let the warmth of the new sun settle on my face.
A minute passed.
I turned around just to feel the warmth on my back.
And that's when I saw it.
My own shadow stretched out in front of me,
Running straight and true directly down the center of the arbored path,
And landing right on the yin-yang gate.
I stood there wearing what I can only describe as one big,
Fat,
Buddha smile.
The symbol I had chosen weeks earlier,
That ancient emblem of balance,
Of opposites held in harmony,
Was perfectly,
Precisely aligned with the sunrise on one of the two days in the year when light and darkness,
Day and night,
Are exactly equal.
I hadn't planned it.
I had not calculated it.
It had simply arrived.
I've tried to get up before dawn each year on March 21st,
To stand in that same spot,
To watch the sunrise,
Follow the shadows,
And feel the beginning of spring move through me.
Each year,
The time I have left and the arrival of a new spring feels a little more precious.
This year,
I'm going to make the extra effort to be there.
Some moments don't announce themselves.
They wait quietly in a gate,
In a shadow,
In the turning of a season,
Until we're finally still enough to receive them.
If you enjoyed this,
I invite you to listen to my chorus here on Insight Timer.
Finding Serenity is a ten-part journey into the heart of change.
Through personal stories like the one you've just heard,
Reflection,
Guided practices,
You'll learn how to quiet your survival brain,
Move from judgment into acceptance,
Forgive yourself,
Embrace vulnerability with courage,
And discover wisdom rooted in love.
This course offers tools for living with resilience and clarity,
So you can have the deepest experience of being alive.
I'll see you there.
