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  • “What do you see when you turn out the light?
    “I cannot tell you, but I know it’s mine!”

    Lennon-McCartney, from “A Little Help From My Friends”

    I learned something at an early age that I forgot for a long time, but relearned at a much older age. When I was about 5 or 6 years old, I began to help my brother Ken deliver his morning newspapers. I don’t recall how this evolved – if I bugged him to be able to help, or if out of the generosity of his heart (Ken was a very generous brother) he offered to give me a quarter to deliver some papers for him, but that’s when my morning paper delivery career began. By age 8, I would inherit my own entire route of 67 customers, which I would continue until age 14, when I felt like it was no longer “cool” to deliver papers.

    What I remember from those first mornings in “the business”, was waking up long before the sun rose. There was something magical about that, something mysterious, even mystical, a feeling, a sense of the sacred that I felt in that early morning time, long before the rest of the world arose. I could feel a definite presence of something then, that I didn’t feel at other times of the day.
  • Somewhere along the line, as I was getting into recovery, and learned about taking the time for morning meditation, I rediscovered this sense of sacredness I’d known as a child, in the early morning, pre-dawn time. I learned that I had something then that I didn’t know that I had. I had a connection, to the infinite, to the spirit of life, a way and a time to nourish my soul. I didn’t have words to define or describe it then – it just was. More than the money I earned with my work ethic and my labors delivering those papers, that time alone with spirit helped to sustain me through what might have otherwise been a very troubled childhood.

    This is the most important time of my day. It’s the time that I reconnect with who I really am. It’s a sacred time. I try to show up here every morning, never knowing what I will find here on a given day, but knowing, always, that it is mine. Some mornings, I just sit and let it soak in, and don’t do anything else but “be”. Most mornings, I read, I contemplate, meditate, and then think. More often than not, this leads to writing something. But, it’s not necessarily about the writing. It’s more about that connection, that sacred time with just me and my spirit. This is our time.

    This morning, there was a dream that lingered, carried over upon awakening, that occupied my thougts for awhile. I don’t really have anything to say about the dream itself – there’s a lot of things I still remember from it, but none of them make any sense. I’ll write them down, and maybe later, some of the pieces will connect and I’ll have something to report about it. I’m happy that I remembered the level of details I did from it. I’ve been having such rich, in-depth dreams, for several weeks, now, but usually can’t remember a thing about them upon awakening. Maybe now, I’ll start to remember more details. I like to try to remember my dreams, just in case there’s something they’re trying to tell me. Mostly, I just trust that they’re working stuff out at the subconscious level that I don’t have any business knowing at the conscious level, and just let them do their thing, trusting that they’re doing good work, there. For the most part, my dreams are my friends. I trust them.
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