Morning is the best time for me. My brain wakes up as active as can be, sifting through dreams, remembering memories, and sorting out the coming day. Some of my best ideas awaken with me early in the morning. It is the time I am able to read, write, organize lessons, and most importantly, think clearly. Sometimes I wake up quite sad, though. It is a sadness that wells from some place deep in my emotional memory. In fact I have had that early morning sadness from as far back as I can remember. Even as a child. Sometimes I almost believe that these feelings come from a former life ... not that I believe in such things. The sadness is painful but also peaceful. Tears come to my eyes from time to time but more than that, I become thoughtful, reflective and philosophical. The waking sorrow seems to inspire me and I need quiet time to communicate with that ancient, haunted nostalgia.
Some mornings I wake up amused and amusing. Full of joy, mischief and clowning around. On these occasions I am immediately as chatty as can be. There have only been one or two people in my life who could genuinely tolerate or even enjoy and participate in this type of mood I have early in the morning. Because, believe me, it can become quite noisy, fast!
Morning is a time of hope for me. Even after the most difficult night, for whatever reason emotional or physical, as the dawn creeps across the sky, I sense a new beginning. If faced with a challenging day I mostly feel I will be able to tackle it, in the morning. Later and especially during the night, fear has much more of a chance to take hold of my brain and heart. Sometimes at night I feel as hopeless and helpless as can be.
Back in 1987 I was thinking about leaving Israel to come to Buffalo for a college education. I was attending a woman's support group at the time. Rachel, the facilitator, gave us an exercise to draw whatever we liked. We could use rich oil pastel crayons. I drew a huge, colorful bird flying out of a cage, door wide open. We shared our drawings with one another and discussed what we might have been feeling. When it came time to share mine, Rachel and other group members literally gasped out loud to see my bird, so rich with color, flying high and free out of its opened, gold cage. Rachel said, "Ah, so, it looks like you are leaving - in fact, you might be already on your way."
Perhaps I was a bird in a former life. Nothing as dramatic as an eagle, hawk or owl. Probably some kind of song bird, for I love to sing and when I do I feel as if I soar.
An early morning song bird ... not that I believe in such things.
A year ago at Tamarika: In Memorium