Morning is always a sort of shock to the system. When we awake from 'the starless waters of sleep' into the light of the day, we are disorientated and maybe for a split-second, in our most existential mode of the day: Who am I? Where am I? What to do for the day? Does what I do matter? I want to matter. I want to make this day count. What is this world I'm in? I love this world I'm in.
What I love about this time of day is that the world is alive with newness and possibilities. So many things to do today, so many things that could be done!
I think we all carry these sentiments with us, beneath the sometimes hectic hustle and bustle of course. Wouldn't this be a great way of starting the day? -
Morning Song of Senlin- Conrad Aiken
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my father learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in the saffron mist and seem to die And I myself upon a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie, Vine leaves tap my window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones. It is morning. I stand by the mirror And tie my tie once more. While waves far off in a pale rose twilight Crash on a white sand shore. I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: How small and white my face! - The green earth tilts through a sphere of air And bathes in a flame of space. There are houses hanging above the stars And stars hung under a sea... And a sun far off in a shell of silence Dapples my walls for me... It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning Should I not pause in the light to remember god? Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, He is immense and lonely as a cloud. I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, for him I will comb my hair. Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! I will think of you as I descend the star. Vine leaves tap my window, The snail track shines on the stones. Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree Repeating two clear tones. It is morning, I awake from a cloud of silence, Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. The walls are about me still as in the evening, I am the same, and the same name still I keep. The earth revolves around with me, yet makes no motion, The stars pale silently in a coral sky. In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, Unconcerned, and tie my tie. There are horses neighing on far-off hills Tossing their long white manes, And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, Their shoulders black with the rains... It is morning. I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor... ... it is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, And a god among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know... Vine-leaves tap at the window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.