The Stillness Of The Morning

Quiet.

I love the safety of an early morning. Morning moves slowly. In early hours there is time for contemplation, for listening, for the sorting of ones life into manageable tasks. In the morning I am not yet behind, not racing or juggling or fighting traffic and customer service or negotiating relationships. In the morning each thing is presented singularly, in its own time. Now coffee, now dishes, now the sound of the men collecting trash, now the blue jays knocking at the window. There is is time, and hope, and possibility inside the blue light of a morning, a gathering of will. 

There is comfort in a morning. As a child, I was always the first to rise. A good girl, I would quietly crawl from the covers to roam the house, feed the cat, and bring in my fathers paper. When he got up, half-lidded, sniffing for his coffee, interested in the news of the day, gearing up for a long day of work, he would take me by the hand and we would stand together at the picture window to watch the sunrise. From our perch on the hill, looking east, it was as if the whole world was bathed in soft pink sheets of promised light. My fathers hand was warm and soft.

This morning, I watched the sky take on the light from my own little perch on a hill, facing west. I closed my eyes, and felt my hand slip into my fathers. For a moment, my world was simple, love, gratitude, memory. And then, with a breath and a smile, I opened my eyes.

Start the day. 

The Work Of The Feet

Press.

There are days of quiet dance. Days when you tuck, solitary, into the studio to work and rework the floor like a worry stone. Days when the rain wraps around the windows and the light fades and it is you, the music, and the work of the feet. On these days I feel my feet spread, thick and swollen against the wood the previous days dances appearing like ghosts in my soles. I shift my weight, forward and back, and settle, dropping my weight between my legs. I bend my knees and move, pressing through the floor, my feet the only thing left to drive my body into movement against exhaustion and soreness. My mind interrupts me and I falter, losing the sequence. The music stops, but the rhythm of the rain beats on. My feet begin again.

Photograph
Sandhya Ramen, University of Oregon Spring Student Dance Concert 2009, Erinn Ernst choreography

Things For A Monday Morning

Sundry.

The first morning of the week for me is often just the tangled remainder of a too-busy weekend that leaves me feeling more paralyzed than invigorated. From the tangle:

The cat has thrown up on the rug. I discover this by stepping in it in my socks.

I wore every pair of dance pants and tights I own over the weekend. I have four hours to do all of my laundry. Or I could just wear dirty pants.

I log on to email. 44 messages. I log back off.

I open my calendar to figure out my day, it is blank, just like the rest of the week. I put updating my new calendar on my mental list of things to do. I also put making a tangible list of things to do on it.

I drink the last of the coffee and think about the grocery store. Then I think about drinking more tea.

I walk downstairs and back up, three times, unable to remember what it is I am looking for.

I step in the wet spot from where I cleaned up after the cat in my last pair of clean socks.

I take a deep breath. I consider hunger and homelessness and addiction and violence and any number of other things worse than dirty socks and cat puke. I decide that attitude is everything. One thing at a time.

How To Start Your Day

Wake.

I am not a particularly good sleeper. Though not an insomniac, I do not sleep easily or very much and am prone to nightmares and fitful sleep. Perhaps because of this, I often wake in a soft and vulnerable state, feeling the stresses and obligations of life press upon me. In order to shake myself loose from this and face my day I turn to morning ritual. Far better than half an hour of extra sleep is rising early to take time for myself to build a fire, have a cup of coffee outside with the birds, and stretch. The way I begin my day has everything to do with how I proceed through the rest of it. Taking time for yourself first thing in the morning is a reminder of your own importance and it allows you to gather your thoughts and plan a course of action. It is not selfish to take this time. Self care is what allows us to provide for others and give them what they need. 

A list of things to do to reinvent your morning:

Do Yoga

Meditate

Drink a cup of tea

Read

Eat breakfast

Make a list

Take a walk

Sit quietly

Play music, sing a song

Take a bath, not a shower

For more ways to transform your morning:

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-11639/5-life-changing-ways-to-start-your-day.html

Image:

http://therumpus.net/2009/01/morning-coffee-18/