“You don’t even know if the sun will come up tomorrow,” I wrote yesterday to a student who was having difficulty choosing what to believe. I encouraged him to imagine not believing anything at all for a while.
It’s hard not to believe that the sun will come up in the morning, but last night I had an experience that illustrated the depth of my assumption.
My nearest neighbor, who has a small farm, asked me whether I would look after the ducks and hens in the mornings and evenings over the weekend. I was so happy to be asked because I do love good farms. I spent a lot of time on a big farm as a kid. When I was born, as was the custom, my parents put the standard paragraph in the births section of the Melbourne Sun newspaper: “Marjorie and Noel Cecil of (address) welcome the birth of their daughter, Ann”. A week later, they received a letter in the mail from another Marjorie and Noel Cecil who lived on a 3000 acre wheat and cattle farm just out of Swan Hill. It was the beginning of a close friendship that lasted as long as they did. We visited often. The best part was driving the tractors and, with my brother, milking the house cow who was, believe it or not, actually called Daisy.
At my neighbor’s farm, the ducks and hens are fed just before going into the coop for the night, around dusk. As I was preparing to walk over, some ominous clouds rolled in and it started to rain. I considered waiting until after the rain, but night was approaching and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to find my way around with only a flash light, so I got in the car for the short drive. I was not even half way down my long driveway when fork lightning began. The rain came down in sheets; I could barely see through the windscreen. It was vastly more sudden and intense than I could have imagined even two minutes earlier. I saw a huge lightning strike to my left as I slowed to a crawl to make the sharp right onto her driveway. I felt a big thud, but all sound was drowned out by the deafening rain and wind. I drove up as close to the house as possible and ran the last few feet to the eaves, becoming completely drenched in those three or so seconds. The storm passed quickly, and I fed the chickens in the coop and the three fluffy baby ducks in the garage.
I got back in the car, drove down her driveway and began making the sharp left to go home but couldn’t even begin the turn. The thud I had felt had been made by a large tree landing across the road what must have been just inches from my car. If I had been even a second later, it would have been catastrophic. My first thought was, “Wow! Just today I was telling my student that they can’t know if they’ll see tomorrow, and it’s me that needed to be reminded of that!”
That night I treated myself with Yang Wei Mai channel and went to sleep strangely doubly optimistic about the morning, if it were to come. It’s a magical channel—as they all are—because it’s able to gear a person to wake up the next day full of optimism. The points, as always remind us of the functions of the entire channel. Metal Gate restores the patient’s appreciation for the unique contributions they make; Yang Exchange refers to the gathering of yang for the work to be carried out the next day; Squat Bone stimulates remembering who we are and why we’re are here, Upper Arm reminds the patient of the feeling that they can handle any challenge, Arm Shu encourages the re-extension of oneself into the world, Celestial Bone Hole treats emotional pain, Well at the Shoulders revives consciousness, Pool of Wind treats shaking, Brain Emptiness treats indecisiveness, Soul Order restores the will to live and generates a positivity, Upright Ying brings comfort, Window of the Eyes and Head Tear Receptacle revive the ability to move past trauma, White of Yang reconnects one to reality, Root of the Spirit calms the mind and records experiences in the brain, Wind Warehouse returns to the kidneys the yang wasted on focusing on the past. The sum total of the effect of the channel is optimism. The spirit is all set for whatever follows should the sun come up tomorrow…or otherwise.
Ann Cecil-Sterman
April 27th, 2025
Litchfield Hills, CT