London
It is 4:30 in the (very early) morning. It’s absolutely silent other than the hum of the radiator; dark other than the glow of the kitchen light. The autumn chill is clinging to my back.
I’m up before the household, the city. I’m up before the sun. Up before the news. Before my mind can form doubts and checklists.
These have been my mornings (although not necessarily always this early) for as long as I can remember. Since college, I’ve somehow made it a habit to get up at least 3 hours before my day officially starts. (Lately, in the busy-ness of packing, moving and deciphering next steps, I’ve needed larger swaths of time). This period has become my non-negotiable. My “sacred space” – to listen, to ground, to discern. A space where, as Joseph Campbell describes, I can find myself over and over again.
Everyday, I sit in silence. Then I have tea and read. Or write. Or just continue to listen to what my life/gut/soul might be whispering.
Sometimes, nothing happens. Other times, the world in all its splendid worth-the-eyebags wildness does.
“The soul is like a wild animal — tough, resilient, savvy, self-sufficient, and yet exceedingly shy. If we want to see a wild animal, the last thing we should do is to go crashing through the woods, shouting for the creature to come out. But if we are willing to walk quietly into the woods and sit silently for an hour or two at the base of a tree, the creature we are waiting for may well emerge, and out of the corner of an eye we will catch a glimpse of the precious wildness we seek.”
–Parker Palmer