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“When the owl sings, the night is silent.” ~ Charles de Leusse
The sounds of the crickets, the tree frogs, the wind whispering through the trees, the nocturnal orchestra that wraps up the sweet conclusion of the day.
Safe in this place. Devoid of distraction, the sensory overload.
The decompression. The relief. The excitement, the ideas—inspiration on hold for the entirety of the waking day.
The neglect of the pillow and restoration from rest in contrast to the gentle sounds of peace, the orchestra of calm and stillness.
If only the night owl could meet the morning dove.
The mourning dove would plead, “Please get some sleep. You’re savage and fierce, and you make great waves, but I cannot spread my wings this way. I am so tired.”
And the night owl would respond, “Ah, yes, but if I don’t do my part, you won’t remember.”
As the night owl has its great ideas, it’s stealing what the mourning dove could accomplish.
“We humans have lost the wisdom of genuinely resting and relaxing. We worry too much. We don’t allow our bodies to heal, and we don’t allow our minds and hearts to heal.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
The comfort and the safety of the nocturnal orchestra deserve less indulgence day by day.
So that the mourning dove may let the spring renewal transform into summer elegance, shedding what no longer serves come autumn. So that we are no longer experiencing the death of the soul when winter arrives. The season that is for the second harvest of self-growth, transition, and reflection—now.
Without contending the magnificence, fierceness, and secrets that the night owl holds, the longevity of our sacred vessels, our hearts, and our minds will prove more magnificent than that.
Hear the mourning dove’s gentle, sweet coo.
She’s safe, too. Let her lead you to your pillow.
“It is well to be up before daybreak, for such habits contribute to health, wealth, and wisdom.” ~ Aristotle
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