where the writers are

waking up | waking up

dr-steve-mcswain's picture
The birds are singing this morning. Do you hear them? Or, are you dashing about preparing to plunge into the business of living on Monday morning? I will be, too, but the song I heard this morning stopped me right smack in the middle of the madness. Were it not for the winter that remains......
annette-talbert's picture
Stumble out of bed into   murky gray darkness.   The woodpecker taps unceasingly, against my window pane.   Mockingbird sings his morning song,   As dawn's rosy breath, rises above the treetops. © annettealaine-2013
dr-steve-mcswain's picture
To be rightly related to God is to be rightly related to reality. In other words, the more grounded you are in what is...life itself...this present moment, no matter what or how this moment may come to you, the more connected you are to reality...to sanity itself...to God herself. What this means...
christine-bottaro's picture
I kick off the covers, roll to my side and sit up, feel every joint and muscle begin a chorus of complaints.  When I stand up, which is more a slow-motion conflict between gravity and body parts trying to resist, a memory of a long-ago yoga class slithers through my mind and exits with a dark look...
christine-bottaro's picture
In the morning, after a night's sleep that has left me feeling like I have suffered some sort of defeat at the hands of an unruly mob, I stand in the kitchen and try to focus.  Coffee has been made and is cooling slowly in the coffee pot.  I rub my eyes and recall odd images from my sleep, feel...
sherrie-theriault's picture
May 4     The Wake Up Call    I wake early and watch the lazy rain fall in slow fat random drops.  I view it with silent awe, only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered.  Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept: snow, it is snow; the sky had been, too dark to allow me to see...
sherrie-theriault's picture
October 8 ALARM CLOCK The dream-killer plays its harsh tones. I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake. The tip of my tongue, dry to leather, welcomes the wet of my toothbrush. I grin a foaming smile. I run through my night's travels; I mentally wonder the highlights, ponder the implications and...
dr-steve-mcswain's picture
Chapter Two: Silence, Solitude, and the Tibetan Monks of Kathmandu   “Silence is as deep as eternity; speech as shallow as time.” -- Thomas Carlyle (1795 – 1881)   KATMANDU   “I think I’m going to Katmandu. That’s really, really where I’m going to. If I ever get out of here, That’s...