Root of the Root

I wake up really early. Like way-before-the-sun-gets-up-there-are-still-stars-in-the-sky early. My husband thinks I’m insane. Even the dogs look up at me with bewilderment as I peel myself from under our feathery duvet, leaving a warm wrinkled void. But I must say, once I’ve gotten over the initial shock of the hour, night’s final act is truly magical. Dawn has not yet thrown her cloak, and darkness bleeds shadows from the sky. The moon drips honey beams through the trees and onto the grass, gently prodding sleep from night’s hand. It is so quiet and so still.

In these private moments, I feel caught in the belly of life’s breath, close to the earth and the sky and all things living. And I see how underneath it all, there really are no metaphors. The wind is not like God’s breath. The wind is God’s breath. And I see how underneath it all, there really is only one emotion. Every feeling rises from the same heart source. It is the “root of the root, and the bud of the bud.” It is “the sky of the sky, which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.”

It is everything. And it is all here. It is all here every single day. It smiles through the sun and it seeps from the stars. It is everything and everywhere and everyone. Always. And you don’t have to wake before the sun to get a glimpse. Just open yourself to it. It’s there.