Early Sunday morning brews the gray sky brighter, lifting it higher, away from trees that heave and sigh in a brisk wind. This soft diffused light brings steadiness to the half-waking self still clinging to the surreal realm of last night’s dreams. Inchoate thoughts succumb slowly and like a rainbow gradually fading, reverie dissolves as the mundane presses in. A daily list of chores looms visible to inner eye, there to check off item by item. Still, the mind see-saws between two realms, leans back into the unorthodox that creates quirky rituals: I journal (this) and doodle, yet know soon the wide-awake world will win out, will cuff me by the neck and haul me into the day. No use fighting it… I put down my pen and journal.
My sleek Siamese bats around a stuffed mouse that falls limp with each swat and soon sleek kitty loses interest, walks to window, jumps up and looks out: not much there either. He spots the small round cat bed next to the fireplace, stretches out and slips down, ambles over to it. He settles in, with a buddha’s half closed eyes. I sigh… that I might live such a life, bat around things of short-lived and dubious interest then return to meditative realms for long enlightening stretches.
But, no. The sun, though obscured by a yawning gray, is steadily rising in the East, and the day will be long and active.