Morning.

I love the morning.

I say this with my eyes not yet fully open of their own accord. I say this not yet ready to talk to anybody who does not understand the sacredness of morning.

I don't wake up feeling on top of the world. In fact, even this morning I groaned internally when I realized it was 7:00am and then 7:09am (which felt like an hour later) ... and my body was not going to go back to sleep easily. I do love sleeping. It is not the act of waking up that I enjoy in the morning. Rather, it is mornings like this one. I cannot see the morning from my bedroom. But now I see it is one of those perfect mornings.

It is Saturday so the world rests easy. The birds wake up first, after the sun. The air is crisp and cold but the sun shines gently promising it will not stay this way. The space between summer and fall is best, especially for mornings. The evenings hold onto the warmth built up in the day, at least here in the Northwest of the States. But somewhere in the night, a chill steals in and mornings crack open. I wish I had a porch swing.

There is nothing quite like wrapping yourself up in a blanket, bringing something hot to drink, and watching the world wake up slowly. You can hear yourself think in those early hours. Nobody has to know that your thoughts are slow or disorganized. Morning is a good back drop to organize yourself. I feel like my soul can breathe then. Nothing is yet expected of me. It is something I can share with the world before society wakes up. Society with its demands and rules, with its expectations and deadlines.

Let that sleep.

I want to wake to stillness.

I want a space to be.

I want to remember who I am before the day starts and I am too quickly reduced to function and reason. I am so much more than just who I have to be. Everyone is so much more than who they have to be to make it through their day. But it is so easy to leave the rest of you out.

I have felt much like I have been knocked out of orbit while the rest of the cosmos spins quietly on; but I have been sustained this far. Only now, in this space, am I beginning to accept this new season of life on its own terms rather than the terms I thought I could set. That, that is freedom. And so I breathe easy as one who is free, but has not yet forgotten the feel of being bound and the weight of shackles.

I do not have to grow up
And I know it.
But I cannot keep the world young.

That, I realize, is what I really want.
It is a tragic case of miscommunication
Between cause and effect.

Digging in my heels will only make me
Terribly alone
--and covered in dirt.

Life is not ever one single thing,
That's just how our memory records it,
Editted and glamorized.

Instead, it is the quiet pounding
Of a thousand hearts
Headed hopefully home.

And every one of those hearts
Spins ever onward
At full tilt with our globe

As we race ever and always
Around the only star
That gets to rule and reign time itself.

We can stop all of the clocks
And break all of the alarms
But the world will never stay young.

Brilliant Archimedes wrote,
"Give me a place to stand,
And I will move the Earth."

But that is not the problem, is it?
Try to hold this Earth
Stationary.

Try to keep her still.
Yes, unwind all of the watches
And let us together lose track of time.

But neither you nor I can stop it.
And we will never be free
So long as we spin.

So shake the Earth from orbit,
If you can find a place
To stand so far away from home.

Or better yet,
Let us sail
Straight into the sun.

Let us make it explode
With all of the star light and wonder
Held in our own aging eyes.

There, in the dark of newly emptied space,
We will finally be free of time and change;
But we will also be left with no where to go.

windows from Olga

Oh the things I can justify in the name of art...like the free section on craigslist. So many things there. And I am realizing something very important: potential has a certain allure. If something is already good, done, finished... then there is no room for me to love it and grow with it.

No. Give me something with a crack, a rough spot. Give me something no longer useful for its original purpose and two things happen: 1. It can be made new. 2. I have the freedom to supersede old rules and throw them out ... for beauty.

Apologies to those who have to live with me and my windows. But I am in love. In that horribly unbearable to everyone else infatuation stage. I am building promises to myself to unpack the kitchen and finish a few other projects before I am allowed to start anything with these lovelies though. *sigh* Soon though. Soon enough.