Morning Rituals

I’m a sleepyhead. I’ve been one since I was born. (My parents often said they were grateful for this habit, as they were ones too. Guess that makes it genetic.)

I love coming awake slowly, stretching and curling in the bed, tensing and relaxing muscles. Gradually becoming aware of how the sheets and blankets feel against my skin, how I’m wrapped around my pillows and my husband. All this is done before I open my eyes so I can test my sense of hearing next, then my sense of smell. The last things I do is open my eyes, especially if I’m trying to hold on to the remnants of a dream. Before my lids lift, I let myself float, allowing whatever loose thread there is to draw me into the fabric of my subconscious life.

When I can hold the full pattern, I scan for its meaning or application in my ‘awake’ life. I know something is there for me to see and ponder.

Then I’m ready to open my eyes.

Not all mornings, of course, are like this. I’m just describing my druthers.

My second best thing to do is wake up before the sun. There’s something about waking up in the hush of the morning, when the birds aren’t awake and no breeze disturbs the oaks and madrones and firs. This is the time when I think even Mother Earth is holding her breath.

Being awake and alone in this stillness creates for me a bond with all women, those from all cultures and eras, who made their way into the day before their families. I can envision us ripening the atmosphere of consciousness with prayer, perhaps a whiff of incense or sage.

This is the kind of morning where I want to wear a shawl across my shoulders as I walk outside. Just as I do on sleepyhead mornings, I keep my eyes closed as I stand in the early freshness. I use my senses to smell the air, listen for sounds, feel for a breeze, then open my eyes to an eastern sky beginning to brighten on the horizon. I wait for the shadows to explode across the landscape.

However I choose to begin my day, I remind myself, “It’s a new day” and try to hold that thought in my heart.