Yet uplifting. With a rhythm and beat. An acoustic guitar fills my room. The clock—flashing. Like high beams from an oncoming car. 5:02 a.m.
The gentle sounds continue, with words and drums added. I’m still in bed. No rush to get out. Stretch long. As if I could get my 5’5” frame over the edges of the queen size bed I lay on.
The sounds reveal themselves: a song. Trevor Hall’s “Om Shakti Om.” And I turn myself into a background singer from my bed. Moving at my pace and rhythm.
My feet hit the floor. The music is now into the chorus—where I add my own lyrics. Off key. This verse, I become a standing background singer battling with the lead, my voice elevated.
I flip on a far light, the room dim. Showing shapes and depth of my surroundings. My eyes adjust. Colors appear.
My world comes alive.
I pull the sheets up to the pillows with my tone deaf voice still accompanying the music. My bed is made. First task of the day completed.
My phone serves as my alarm. Or better yet, Karaoke machine. It’s kept on the other side of the room, inspired by the ideas of Waylon Lewis.
The walk to the music maker is a bit quicker than a three-toed sloth. And still in full sing along. Until I silence the sounds.
As I pick up my phone, my focus shifts to quieting the room. And not on the red numbers that tend to appear next to all the icons—it is not time for technology. It is still me time.
The room now silent, only the sounds of the outdoors fill the space. I grab my block and take a seat. Cross legged. My palms wrap around my knees. My index finger and thumb connect. Eyes close.
For the air to move in and out of my body. Thoughts as well.
My mind always wanders. And in the morning I let it. It is a wave. One that is not ready to be ridden. The thoughts vary. “The excitement of how many likes my last selfie received.” “Why did she say that to me?” “How am I going to pay rent?” It all comes in like the water of an incoming tide.
Then I add structure. Guides for my breath and mind.
I forcefully exhale. Send the air and thoughts out. Recognize them and then move them from my space like unruly students from class. My inhales begin to gain depth—a more concentrated breath with a calming pause at the top. Then the loud exhale, out the mouth.
My mind and thoughts settle. I add a mantra. Something for my mind to grab a hold of. To accompany my body and the air it brings in. Round after round.
This practice of meditation has no time limit. The clock is at my back; the temptation to escape is removed. This is my time to connect with me.
A calm overtakes my body, like that of a mountain lake in the early morning hours. And just like this lake–which was once covered in fog, but is now a mirror to the mountains that surround it—my world becomes clear. And free from the thoughts that covered it on this early morning.
My legs uncross and I move to my feet. My movements are still following my breath: slow and deliberate. And the pull to technology—gone.
To the french press. Coffee calls. The water heats. Today is a two scoop day, with extra coconut oil.
My coffee is black. But the taste reminds me of a tropical paradise—my mind’s next stop. I am not ready for reality. Yet.
Author: Jeramie Vaine
Editor: Catherine Monkman