I wake up early most mornings; early, as in 4:30am. When I’m up before the crack of dawn, my days seem so productive. It may sound romantic, and perhaps in some ways it is. But there’s an inexplicable silence, a stillness that occurs during those wee morning hours; a serenity that I love being a part. When I’m awake before life makes its way to the streets, I spend my time in meditation, feeling my way towards my desires, writing, reflecting, and listening to the birds’ sing their morning praises. Sometimes I lie in bed for what seems like days. Other times, I get up and have a cup from my Bialetti and allow myself to explore and drift and dream, with hope as my rock. It’s an incredible feeling to consciously tap into the act of creation and to be a part of it, aware of the process. During those wee hours I am not only the artist, I am the canvas, the oils, the brushes, the colours, the breath, the arm, the eye, the struggle, the longing, the uncertainty, the desire, the emptiness, the  the fullness and the alignment; in the act and in its manifested form. It’s luxurious with a perfection of imperfections that beckon my sense of worthiness with a natural ease of humility… “This is bliss!” I say to myself in a glorious state of complete beingness. No borders or boundaries, no roles to carry; an ever expansive, unlimitless abyss for which I am the awareness, the consciousness and the creator. I remind myself that I too am a part of this marvelous moment, and not merely the observer. I am the act of creation and the participant. I am the co-creator in and with the universe and all of creation in that infinite moment of fluid, uninterrupted motion of oneness. And then I begin to work the ebb and flow, stretching the moment, expanding it, appreciating it more, accepting it more, breathing it more, expanding it more, spirals upon spirals…. I could go on and on for days.

But what is a day but a single moment…

And so begins my day, most days anyways. A gentle ease into the dawn and then onto the streets, to the coffee shop for my Americano and then onto dreams, words and creation itself.