There is a beautiful moment in waking that happens just as we are crossing over the bridge from our deep sleeping self and before we slip back into our physical selves and the world. I heard it described once as the place where we are translucently awake. We still carry the rich experiences of our dreams as the morning light calls us to our daytime lives. The journey back takes only a few seconds and when we arrive on the this side of the river there is a little space we inhabit at the end of the footbridge between those two worlds. We are awake,still dripping dream fragments as we are reborn into ourselves in the arriving day, a new page of our lives still untouched.
The sun climbs up on the horizon in much the same way, filling our windows with morning twilight long before it arrives, the soft half light racing ahead and quickening the instinctual anticipation of light in all living things. For a brief time the world remains quiet and still, for even the demands of the day are still captured by their own attentions. Its as if the whole world is waiting and listening, paused in the doorway of dawn's ephemeral sanctuary . We are simply being--only ourselves--not a wife, or husband, sister, brother, friend, or child or any one's enemy.
In a world which grows more complicated by the minute, this time is a precious resource. We are all so tired. Many of us wake unrested, short of sleep, our bodies weary from the burden of our responsibilities. It is often all we can do to get out of bed and get started. But perhaps some mornings as we are crossing over that bridge from the night, before we even try to open our eyes and put on the leash of the mind, we might let ourselves linger at the doorway of that sanctuary on this side of the bridge and listen. There in the translucence, fresh from the embrace of our dreams, we are open to hear our own quiet truths, our deepest wishes. Who knows what we may hear?
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