Mental/Emotional Well-Being

Some time ago I  heard about the struggle that a young man I know is having with depression.  A deep well of empathy fills right up for me whenever I hear such news.  I don't claim to know what others should do about situations like this, and I know that likely the most helpful thing I can do is to pray.  I'd like also to share some of the things that anyone can do without spending money or taking medication that might be helpful--in case others would also benefit.  To  some extent, I've tried these things.  I have also tried medication and found it helpful, but am happy that I can do without it now.

I will try to break up what I want to say into several blog posts.   In this post, I will focus on awareness of the natural world.  I thought of this first when I remembered that the young man I know had an unusual interest in and knowledge of the natural world as a child.  I suspect that in his depressed condition, he takes far less notice of the natural world than he used to.  Perhaps it would make a good starting place though for recovering his health.  

Nature provides an awe-inspiring mix of constancy and variation.  Understanding these two realities can fill deep emotional needs..  Who of us is not reassured by knowing that some things never change?  On the other hand, who of us does not long for things to be different someday? I'll focus first on how love for sameness and variety is met in observing sky phenomena.  

Note:  Please excuse my woefully improper terminology when I describe some sky phenomena by speaking only of how things appear from my perspective.  I know that I seem to be repeating many of the same erroneous assumptions that people made in Galileo's time.  This is one of the times when I would surely stall out and not say anything at all if I held myself to a standard of scientific perfection., even if it extended only to the limits of my knowledge.  My sense is that my mental health can benefit when I observe intentionally, imperfect communication notwithstanding.  

Sunrise 

At our latitude (approximately 38 degrees north), the time of sunrise varies throughout the year, with its earliest rising happening on the summer solstice around June 22, and its latest rising on the winter solstice around December 21.  It always rises in the east, of course, but does so very far to the northeast on the summer solstice and very far to the southeast on the winter solstice.  At both the spring and autumnal equinox (the first day of spring and fall), the sun rises squarely in the middle of these north and south extremes.   

If a person always watches the sunrise from the same spot, this north-south march (the variation) will become evident if the place of its rising can be compared with markers on the horizon.  The timing of sunrise also varies.  From the June to the December solstice, it rises a bit later each morning. From the December solstice till the June solstice, the sun rises a bit earlier each day.  Still, the variations are never ever random.  They always progress according to a predictable sequence at a predictable pace.  That's the unchangeable part, and it's incredibly grounding.

I find myself typically breaking into a wide grin at the first sighting of the sun's eye-stabbing brightness as it peeks over the horizon.  I often say something to myself as well. "There it is!"  or "Beautiful!" or "Thank you, God."  I'm usually by myself, so there's no need to explain or restrain myself.  This moment coincides with a jolt of anticipation for what the day offers.  I can't wait to get started enjoying it. 

Unless the sky is completely overcast in the east, the brightest color spread over the widest area happens quite a while before sunrise.  If I can manage it, I usually start checking around 30 minutes before sunrise.  Even when the widespread color is lacking, however, intense color is always present in the sun itself.   

Sunset

Much of what happens at sunrise has a parallel at sunset--the sameness, the variety, the incredible saturated brightness when the sun is perched on the "cliff" of the horizon.  The widespread sky color may intensify considerably for up to a half hour after the sun has sunk out of sight.  

What is very different, however, is the calmness that viewing a sunset evokes, rather than a sense of invigoration and eagerness to accomplish something.  Somehow, at sunset it feels safe to stow undone tasks in a safely-out-of-sight place, knowing that at sunrise tomorrow, those still-undone tasks can be viewed with anticipation and vigor.  

Whatever weather harshness the day brought often seems subdued in the evening.  The heat has relented and the wind has subsided.  Nocturnal animals are venturing out, and early-rising animals are finding resting places.  

Moonrise

I usually look for the moon at sunset and wait to go inside until I've spotted it.  I greet it with the same joy that I greet the morning sun.  I note that whenever I see a moon in the western "half" of my inside-of-a-bowl vantage point, it's a slice of the moon.  The slice gets bigger as it moves east a bit farther each night.  Full moon appears in the evening on the eastern horizon.  

The moon too varies in its rising spot, with the path moving between north and south.  I'm not prepared to explain it at all, but I love the beauty of this image, which is a composite of many images recorded in the same spot over a span of 28 days.  

I feel secure at moonrise.  I'll soon be going to sleep, but Someone with an all-seeing eye will keep vigil all night.

Stars

I've learned to recognize a number of constellations in the night sky.  Whenever I spot a familiar one, I feel like I'm meeting an old friend.  "There you are!" I might say.  Constellations too march across the sky from east to west during the night, or rather, they pivot in a counter-clockwise direction around the north star.  Some of them are not visible at all during part of the year.  Seeing the stars helps provide me with a perspective of my place in the universe.  I'm an incredibly small part of the vast creation, but I'm here, I'm conscious, I can show up in life, and I'm precious to God.  I came from somewhere and I'm going somewhere.  I have a relationship with the Creator God. Observing the stars makes me feel both settled and confident.  

I seriously doubt that any depressed person would have the fortitude to wade through this writing, but maybe someone close to such a person will find a way to walk with them in pursuing good mental health by observing the sky.  

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Recap:  Observing the sky reveals the blessing of both predictability and variableness in life.  Embracing these two realities is a good mental health practice.  Besides these understandings, other healthy habits and responses arise from mindful observation of sky phenomena.  

1.  Sunrise: This moment coincides with a jolt of anticipation for what the day offers.  I can't wait to get started enjoying it. 

2.  Sunset:  Viewing a sunset evokes calmness and peace, rather than a sense of invigoration and eagerness to accomplish something.  Somehow, at sunset it feels safe to stow undone tasks in a safely-out-of-sight place, knowing that at sunrise tomorrow, those still-undone tasks can be viewed with anticipation and vigor. 

3.  Moonrise:   I feel secure at moonrise.  I'll soon be going to sleep, but Someone with an all-seeing eye will keep vigil all night.

4.  Stars:  Seeing the stars helps provide me with a perspective of my place in the universe.