I woke up super early this morning and didn’t feel like going back to bed.
I could feel words wanting to out so my insides could continue their shape shifting.
This is the stream that followed as my pen hit the paper and the light slowly dawned into a new January day.
There is no more faking anything
If I’m not feeling ‘up to it’
If I’m feeling dulled down and languid amidst my new born shimmering self
Who’s to judge it one way or another except me
why not lend a hand to my early morning self
Why not be that friend who simply saddles up next to me silently knowing how alright it all is
How perfect I am right here right now
How all is truly well in spite of my wondering
I am in an odd place
My energy is more deadpan than frying pan
Dance seems distant
I sense that everything I am wanting is already inside…yet
I don’t quite feel the access point
The only real comfort right now is coming from eating chocolate
Being simple
Drinking hot tea
Breathing
Writing
Perhaps I am dying
And should celebrate
Perhaps I still think I am the dead snake skin lying to my right, not yet noticing that my scales are fresh, moist and iridescent
Not yet noticing that I smell different
In fact I don’t smell like a snake or a dragon or a horse or a human woman at all anymore
I smell floral
Natural
Fluid
Formative
Perhaps I haven’t yet noticed my true self staring straight at me
Because I am un-used to being truly and utterly seen
No wonder I feel
What?…
Nothing much
No Big Bang
No grand knock at the door
No letter in the mail from the Elfin Prince of the Woodland Glen
Just me here
Unlike myself
In a new garden
Of my own making
Drying in the sun
Here in California
we have the Sun in spades
Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter
Beaming down on all of us 24/7 like a corner convenience store
Doors open
All night
lights on
the moons translucence reflecting the day back to us
So I sit here
Too early in the morning to mention the time
Wondering what, who, and how I truly am
Perhaps there is no need for questions at this point
Even my brain is tired of rolling those around
A clear glass of water sounds good
To recharge the underground aquifers of my soul
Those long forgotten full to overflowing reservoirs of abundance on all levels that folks talk about tapping into, like it takes a big old David Copperfield magic trick to access
‘Get your golden keys here!’
‘10 steps to living a life of freedom and prosperity!’
‘Live your best life ever!’
Hmmmm
Great!
But it’s too early in the morning for all that
I wish for essentials
That do not stray far from the core of things
Only poetry feels fitting
Not that I am writing poetry
Who knows what this is
No need to know
I forego all manner of explanation
In favor of direct contact
Am I breathing?
Check…
Smoothly?
Seems so…
At a pace that feels good?
Yes…
Even Luxurious?
Getting there…
……now a subtle smile appears on my face
Hmmmm
Tea?
Yep…a bit Luke warm now, but it’s good Oolong and still tastes okay
So here I sit
Breathing at a pace I like
Almost luxurious
Drinking Luke warm Oolong in the now slightly less early morning
Writing this in a candle’s light
I accept.
written by Jani Gillette and the dawn