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  • Writer's picturegoodmorningmapmaker

an ode to morning

I want there to be a way to say good morning that sings with the light of the sun through the curtain

or that hums with the gentle golden light of the dressing room

a way that laughs in a manner both comforting and evocative

that draws the butt deeper into the snuggle, at the same

time as the arms stretch out forwards, preparing to launch, 


roundabout upwards and into a day

a good morning that inspires the right outfit, a blend of

comfort and willingness to play with holy radiant glory would you just look at this body, this radiant sun, is in me, too, and we are ready with eyes bright and minds clear and arms swinging and hands warm and knees loose and toes gripping and wiggling and butts relaxed and sassy and smiles ready to spill out and energy that is generous and directed, like a river

I wish there was a way to say good morning that told you of how many mornings have indeed started out great, we had the lemons and the honey and the kettle and the stove, and everyone worked together, or if they didn’t, the others let it roll off of them with patience and laughter and letting it not be a big deal, like hot air balloons, determined to lift

I wish I could say good morning in this way to every single object in my house and have them all start to glow even brighter back at me, like watching them shuffle a little more into themselves, not even noticeably moving but all of a sudden, everything looks a little more right in its place.

I wish I could say good morning in this way to to all the frustrated foreheads in the world and watch them melt, their leftover wrinkles simply echoes, letting all that god juice from the sunlight slip past their noggins and into their cheeks, their throats, their hearts, tummies, intestines, backs, groins, thighs, knees, and little pinky toes

I wish I could say good morning in a way that conveys all the potential latent in this morning. It deserves to be screamed, it’s so exciting! But it’s actually, indeed, so exciting it needs to be spoken in a whisper, caressing the lips it passes over with a blessing that stitches itself into every miracle-word, every miracle-breath it will share that day.

I can say good morning this way. I do. I do sometimes, and other mornings, the first thing I say is “oh dear” when I look at the clock and feel the pressure of time sitting on me and collapsing the potential into an inevitable rush.

But one morning, a two-days-ago morning, my daughter woke up in the still-dark morning and what she didn’t say, and what she secretly said was “good morning.” what she said for all to hear was “ow, my feet hurt, I wanna go on a walk, I want the cold air on my feet.” 

I checked the clock, and we were 20 minutes awake before the alarm, the early, first alarm that would allow us time for things like walking and snuggling and moving slowly. I bundled her up in the stroller, and we walked to the cemetery. We walked around the cemetery. She didn’t even argue when I said I wanted to listen to my choir music and practice it as we walked. I think she maybe even liked it.

What a big fruit-bowl of potential that secret “good morning” was. And how we jumped into it and were caught in the ripe mango pillows of that particular, beautiful morning.

I’m obsessed with morning. The new-ness, the freshness, the potential, the blank canvas, the ability to direct the day from this cockpit of time. The quality of work produced in the morning can sing as thoroughly, as purely, as the sun turning all the clouds in front of it into that glowing, almost-blinding white I can’t help but stare at. Morning glow, morning shine, morning glory, morning time, morning season, a repeating season in life.

It’s’s like, the opposite of mourning. An ending, a sadness, a grief, stricken lament, regret, glum, black. But a morning can bloom out of a mourning. The sun will rise, color does return, the canvas, blank, starts to wink at you, daring you, to step into the light.

This photo is a still from "Waking Up", a dance choreographed and performed by the HoneyLa Hive in spring of 2018. The dance was inspired by all the seeds waking up and sprouting, and our intention was to share the communal/group aspect of waking up, together. 

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