Morning hoar frost. I got up in the pre-dawn darkness, as usual. I love this time of day. It is almost as if I have entered an alternate universe. I own this alternate universe and everything is possible. No wonder dreams come at night time. And what appears to be a paradox, it is as though a light has been turned on to reveal things about oneself that are hidden during the light of day. There is no analysing of what appears. It simply appears and that is good enough. The sights, the hints, the textures, the shadows, the presences. Though often cloaked, they are there and one knows it.
As night becomes day, a different sense of self emerges, one that is in sharp contrast to the blurry possibilities of night time. Unknown to the ego, the night has shifted the self ever so slightly to have one’s conscious self to stretch the boundaries of the known outer world. But, this shift is temporary. It’s as if the door to a revised present has a time switch where one enters at their own risk, risking change.
Should one hesitate at the portal that appears, it fades and is replaced by the “same old, same old” scenes that are less fearsome. Like a hamster on its wheel, we spin through the rest of the day with repeated scripts that keep the unknown at a distance. The night waits for yet another opportunity to have the soul enlarge its cage. And for those, so wrapped in repetitive mantras and habits, those opportunities are often called nightmares.