This morning the darkness awakened me.
It held everything that had not yet unfolded.
Tonight the darkness held everything that has.
And the woman living by the sea?
She hadn't felt the need to hold on to any of it.
....
Not even all the laughter of the day.
The darkness awakened me again this morning.
And again, sitting meditation in bed.
Yesterday’s laughter is now held in the quiet of pre-dawn.
The hum of the water pump signals emptiness being filled.
And the growing light reveals the gray underneath the darkness.
Close laptop.
Lights off.
Warm ginger water on the balcony.
After three days of hurricane-like winds and partial rain, the air of the last two mornings has been breezy and cool.
I enjoy opening my doors and windows to the sea and the wind.
Twice, it’s brought in birds.
I discovered them unexpectedly and was thoroughly startled each time, instinctively jumping and screaming.
And I have to ask someone for help releasing them.
The close proximity to animals makes me feel uncomfortable.
Not that I wish them harm.
I even try to avoid ants when I walk.
Not to kill.
The sun hadn’t pierced through so it was pleasant sitting on the balcony.
I spontaneously utter a soft chant.
The Gayatri Mantra.
I like how sound travels through my voice.
I like how it feels in my chest.
I like how my ears receive the currents.
I feel more connected.
To myself.
To my surroundings.
I noticed I felt tired.
Part of me wanted to stay on the balcony.
Yes, it felt good.
And underneath, a subtle interpretation that somehow that would be more spiritual.
To stay in quiet connection with Mother Nature.
Smile.
How different this morning is from yesterday.
Yes, a different morning.
The chai was already brewing.
Step inside.
Turn off the stove.
Settle into bed.
Head towards the end of the bed.
A different view of the horizon.
A pillow for the head.
A pillow to hug.
A ship immediately catches my attention.
I watch it move slowly by.
There are other ships beyond.
They pull me towards them.
And I return.
A single speck of black on an immense gray sea.
The thought of sleep occurs.
I recognize the agenda.
If I am tired, I should sleep.
So I can get on with my day.
The image of a clipboard appears in my mind.
With a list of all the things to finish.
But what was before me was not ready to be released.
Next the clouds drew me in.
Watching.
A layer of gray.
A layer of blue.
Swirls of white clouds on top.
Fringes of light gray among the swirls.
A beautiful cake.
With its tiers of different flavors.
And yummy frosting on top.
Hmm.
That fruit tart from Bill’s photo came back into awareness.
Our conversation returned with the memory.
He was awed by the ending of The Invisible Corridor.
He shared a photograph of snacks and desserts from an afternoon tea with his aunts over the weekend.
The fruit tart had caught my attention.
That would taste really good right now.
Maybe I can accompany my friend tomorrow to Phân Thiết and enjoy some.
Smile.
Here.
The eyes had received enough.
I closed them.
Again, sleep came through on the agenda.
Instead, I watched the environment within.
Even at night, sleep isn’t something I get into bed for.
I lay there watching the night.
The twinkles in the sky.
The twinkles on the water.
The white foam of the shoreline.
Sleep comes on its own.
It’s been a recent shift.
I noticed the production-style of learning technology for websites and landing pages was adding strain.
I would look to sleep for replenishment so I could focus again the next day.
Productivity.
Even with sleep.
And how that intention hindered its own realization.
After several restless nights, I let the struggle go.
I got into bed because the day was done.
My capacity reached.
And I would lie there.
The night and I.
Witnessing each other.
Sleep arrived on its own timetable.
And I would feel rested the next morning.
The rhythm of work continued.
With less strain.
More ease.
And this morning, a lingering tiredness.
Perhaps it's from two mornings of waking up really early.
The reason doesn’t matter so much.
Just this moment.
About 6 a.m.
I am already back in bed.
Watching the world beyond.
Now watching the world within.
There were some physical sensations.
And some currents of residue.
CERR showed up spontaneously.
Connect. Expand. Release. Relax.
The unnecessary carrying released.
The body softened.
A few moments later I got up.
The body received what it needed.
Sleep wasn’t required.
Recognition.
Availability.
Participation.
With kindness.
With less rigidity.
Less agenda.
Back into the kitchen.
Stove on.
Chai.
A delicious cup of it now sits beside me.
6:45 a.m. as I type here.
There is warmth in my chest and belly.
There is softness in my breath.
My mind feels light and clear.
The breeze moves.
The sea ripples.
The chai waits.
How different this moment feels.
Nothing extraordinary.
And everything available.
For my return.
In the past, I would let imagined fear prevent me from the very moment that exists.
A judgement of laziness creeps in.
A measure of worth.
And I would push through.
Tiredness.
Emotions.
Reality.
Now there’s the ruffling of white sheers because the wind has touched them.
There's a barren tree in a pot waiting for new life to climb upon it.
There's the sway of asparagus that has learned to grow tall enough to climb on the nearby trellis.
But not wide enough to make it into the kitchen.
It sits as a beautiful adornment, but not for consumption.
A different measure of nourishment.
A different way of being.
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CHAPTER 1 — Friday the 13th
CHAPTER 2 — Yesterday Morning