I adore the morning time. I always have. My siblings used to poke fun at me and the way I could literally spring from the bed after only having woken up moments ago. This is simply because I truly enjoy her and everything she has to offer to me. The morning feels fresh and warm like wiggling your toes down into the damp parts of the soil. She holds the leftovers from the magic of the night before, when things were quiet and the human social energy was so low that the rest of the Earth had no choice but to let its voice be heard. The earlier the morning, the more magic. In the early morning you get to witness the working man singing in the street, worms on the pavement, mist and fog, store owners setting up shop, kindness that hasn’t been soiled by the ill feelings of the day and most importantly blue, greys, pinks and oranges that are soft, yet rich and deep.
The morning is when I reconfigure my brain and choose my armor for the day. I set my intentions in the AM. I absorb my daily pieces of literature whether it be of the motivational, political, psychological, or astrological nature. There is always music playing; I almost never wake up with a song in my head. I’ll hear Steve Lacy – RYD/DARK RED at least once. I like to touch things in the morning – sharp corners, the surface of my counter top, the back of my neck, dry lips, a partner if I woke up with one and empty bottles that I’m pretending might still have sustenance within.
During the morning no one is allowed to talk to me except myself. I don’t respond to text messages, instastories, emails, or phone calls. I feel most powerful in the morning, so full of life and control that I radiate energy. Its like standing outside of the door before finally entering the party. In the morning I breathe a lot and take longer pauses to stare at things. I think about what my life would be like if it were entirely made up of mornings. Then I sigh, nod my head and start the day.