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Friday, 07 May 2004 |
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I am definitely a morning person. I really and truly can’t wait to get up. Every day. Each morning.
I have a sort of self-imposed “rule” that I can’t get up before 4 a.m. so — given that I am not very good at making myself do things that I really don’t want to do — I usually wake up on my own just slightly after that. I don’t know why this came to be but it did. And I so enjoy it.
It is grounding.
It is releasing.
It is.
A moment when I can breathe deeply and widely.
A moment of stretching of spirit
that doesn’t yet need to reel itself “in”
to take into account the requests of the day.
A moment of floating through the sounds
of my children sleeping,
the birds waking,
the coffee dripping,
the animals stirring,
the leaves articulating themselves.
A moment of bathing in air
whose colour I am completely aware of without needing to look,
whose texture wafts through all of my pores.
Light.
It is a moment of pure light.
Regardless the brightness.
Yes, my moment of stretching of spirit. Most, most, most happy to then “start”.
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