Friday Morning, 42 Minutes Before Sunrise

Hello Dear Ones! I am sun-drunk and full of ideas. It is a blissful place to be, and also a frustrating place to be. Sometimes it feels like too much so I end up doing nothing but sending another move to my opponent on Words with Friends. I appreciate you being here as I find my way back to consistency.

Today’s draft is inspired by a documentary I watched recently and by the sparrows that love the bushes outside my bedroom window.

The Japanese man in the film said the birds start singing

42 minutes before the sunrise.

Exactly 42, he said, showing his watch to the camera,

every morning.

This is how I knew the time with my eyes closed

when the ground sparrow song reached me

wrapped and tucked in my gray cotton sheets.

It is another day --

or at least it will be, in 42 minutes.

I take a moment to erase the landscape of my dreams,

open my eyes to the darkened room

watch the light bloom around the edges of the not-quite-fitted blinds.

The Japanese man in the film cured his cancer with joy,

so he says.

I weigh his existence against my capacity to hold

the possibility of a miracle.

I decide the weight feels good in my hand,

42 minutes before sunrise

on a mid-May Friday morning.

P.S. As part of my mission to get more people to experience the benefits of conscious movement practices, I just writing about embodied enlightenment on Medium. Check out this post about interoception and the insula.