The quietness of the house wakes me. Everything is still and the silence is deafening. I roll on my side and stare at the silhouettes of the Palm Trees in the dark. Then I lay there and my mind fills with hopes and dreams of miracles and love. I don’t rush anymore. I lay there for a long time just washing myself in hopes and dreams.
This is new for me. I used to leap from the bed directly into the shower fully awake and ready to conquer the day. I’d dress and be at the Breakfast Club fifteen minutes after waking. A half an hour later I was heading for the office and the days were roller coaster rides of triumph and tragedy. Returning home that evening I would describe my day to someone who cared.
That’s how it used to be.
Now I linger in the quietness of the house focusing intently on the hopes, dreams, miracles and love. These are the first things that I think about now every morning; just me and them with no interruptions. It is a sensual wakening. Why hurry when it is sensual? Life doesn’t have enough of that. We give away our sensuality for stability.
Since June, first in St. Martin then on my beloved back deck and now sitting at my kitchen table staring through the sliding glass doors at the windy winter days, I have stopped.
I used to be relentless and I gave myself away to grand causes, social justice and the things that God says she wants in Scriptures. I did a lot of cool stuff, met a lot of people, won a bunch of awards and got my picture in the paper and on TV. That was my life for decades.
Since June I’ve grown increasingly accustomed to the sensuality of the mornings. Hope, dreams, miracles and love are the major goals of life anyway so why not start every day with them?
They are prayers.
The quietness of the house is akin to the emptiness of a church. It wraps its arms around me. If God speaks in the “still small voice” then she is yelling at me.
Fifteen minutes or half an hour later I get up. Goddess is not used to this new routine so she is lying in the door to the bathroom so that I HAVE to pay her the attention that she is accustomed to. I linger in the shower now too. It is a thoughtful time and the sounds of silence are deafening in the hot water that sprays on me. I stare upwards as though in prayer. Then I sigh heavily towards the ground.
Climbing out, I have already felt every emotion that the day will throw at me. It is a much different way to wake up.
Since June I’ve waited on things to come to me rather than chasing after things. It has been very Zen like. And it has been amazing what has, and hasn’t happened.
I’ve captured the holiness of waking up somehow. My friends have come to me. The people who had always said they were my friends didn’t. I know who is who. Work finds me rather than me finding work. Fran came back to life in her thousand shades of green and I believe in resurrections more than I ever have. Old friends came out of nowhere. Joy found me.
Now is the time for my resurrection. Grand causes, social justice, the things that God says she wants in Scriptures, cool stuff, lots of people, new awards and pictures in the paper and on TV are around the corner somewhere.
But for now, I’ll take the silhouettes of the Palm Trees, the sensuality of hopes, dreams, miracles and love.
After all, this is the language of God.
