i awaken feeling rested. but, this is an impure experience of rest… one washed with a tint of contrition. i fell asleep on a wave of extravagance. abundance. excess.
i open my eyes cautiously, aiming for the window. it’s still dark outside. the night remains dense in our vision far beyond the moment its thickness begins to unravel. but, i am not here to wax philosophical. or, am i? maybe so.
i have been in active inner conversation, these past few weeks. late nights are especially dialogical. early mornings bring unrepentant discretion.
i have learned to attune holistically to the sound humming inside the modest space of pre-dawn. i have learned to gather wisdom from the lips of quietude, consolidate it, and sprinkle it generously back into the boundless dark.
i have in me a stammering need to say nothing, to deliver nothing and, instead, to settle into flowing inactivity. i am leaning into this reprieve. to sense. to embody. to make sense.
i drop all filters.
i unadulterate all truth.
i unboundary all subjectivity.
i am here to encounter.
and acknowledge.
and support.
some may call this
navel-gazing.
i think not.
this, i say, is
genuine authenticity—truth
that connects with the self
before it summons another.
