In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

“In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

In a world that tumbles forward in haste and noise, the act of expressing gratitude feels like an intimate pause — a stillness that speaks louder than words. It is the soul’s gentle bow to the beauty it beholds, often unseen by the distracted eye. Gratitude is not merely a polite gesture; it is an awakening. A deep and sacred awareness that life, in all its layers — the gentle and the grating — is a gift.

How do I express my gratitude?

At times, it flows through spoken words — a tender thank you, a phrase softened by sincerity and brightened by presence. But often, my gratitude is quieter. It dwells in silence, in small acts of kindness returned, in eyes that meet another with truth and warmth. A letter left beneath a book, a prayer whispered to the sky, a simple nod to the passing wind — these too are hymns of my thankfulness.

Gratitude, for me, is not confined to festive seasons or ceremonial gestures. It arrives unannounced — with the first light of dawn filtering through the curtain, or the fragrance of rain on dry earth. It lives in the ordinariness of moments made magical by awareness. A smile from a stranger, the rustle of trees in an afternoon breeze, the music of solitude — all become sacred when received with grace.

The great thinkers have spoken of gratitude as a spiritual virtue. In Stoic philosophy, it is considered the key to contentment. In Indian traditions, it is pratishruti — a vow to remember the grace bestowed by life and others. Rumi wrote, “Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.” This isn’t just poetry — it’s a practice, a living philosophy.

Gratitude refines the spirit. It burns the excess of ego, softens the edges of complaint, and heightens one’s sensitivity to the interconnectedness of all things. It teaches us to honour both the giver and the gift — be it joy or grief — for each has a role in our unfolding.

Even suffering has been a strange teacher. Looking back, I have learnt to be grateful for losses that revealed hidden strengths, for rejections that re-routed me to wiser paths, and for silences that deepened my understanding of life’s music. Gratitude doesn’t erase the ache — it transforms it.

In the practice of gratitude, there is also humility — an acknowledgement that we are not the sole authors of our happiness. Nature, chance, people, time — all conspire quietly in our favour. Recognising this, I find myself offering thanks to the nameless, the forgotten, the divine.

Whether it is through lighting a diya at twilight, writing a reflective note, offering a song, or simply being still with the moment, I let my gratitude breathe. Not out of obligation, but from reverence — for life as it is, imperfect and radiant.

Let me conclude with a few stanzas — verses that rise from the still waters of appreciation:

Verses in the Light of Thanks

Gratitude is not a grand parade,
But moonlight on a field once frayed.
A hush that sings through broken stone,
A hand that clasps, though worn, alone.

It blooms in cups of evening tea,
In moments steeped in memory,
A smile exchanged, a door held wide,
The ache that taught the soul to glide.

It’s thanks not just for joys we keep,
But also for the trials that steep.
For every no that shaped the yes,
For silence that gave voice to bless.

So I bow to dusk, to the leaf, to the flame,
To all who passed and left no name.
And in this fleeting, fragile hue,
I live, I breathe, and I thank you.

To read more of such stories, please read the following books available at http://www.amazon.com