She wakes from a soothing slumber and her soul sinks into her earthly body once again. Like coffee mixing with cream.

Everything feels lighter… lighter… brighter.

The white light fills every dark corner of the jaded room and makes it look brand new.

Her eyelids flutter open slightly. Just a touch. Enough to see this morning. But not too much. Let me savour it a moment longer, she bargains with herself. She breathes the light in and returns a sigh of gratitude. For the wisdom she and the night exchanged

. . . for the darkness that allowed the light in.

She feels her throat expanding joyfully with a morning yawn that would put a lion cub to shame. Her eyes finally open fully and embrace the wonder of her surroundings. Her grandmother’s alarm clock; old as time itself. The sliver of sunlight peaking through the curtains to land on the dresser; announcing it’s return. She muses.

She gives thanks for the gift of sight that forces a remembrance of the world’s beauty when the other senses forget.

As she takes a deep breath, she checks the beating of her heart. It has a certain heaviness to it this morning. Born from the weight of the world not quite ready for her yet. But still, it beats. Up and down, rising and falling. Always beating.

Her breath never leaves her.

Rumbles of hunger rise in her belly like the soft growl of a wolf, and she remembers the present moment; this physical plane that nourishes her so well. She smiles, nodding in tandem with her belly’s instructions, agreeing it is time.

Time to feast on the day ahead.

Her feet meet the ground softly, one by one, like deer tiptoeing on a forest floor. Carefully, she stretches her bones and settles, standing still, taking what she needs from the earth. She envisions cords of light connecting her to the centre of the earth. They — the roots, She — the tree. Grounding… rooting… soothing. Smoothing the flow of her energy and lifting her up like a cloud, then falling down in a wave of reassurance that whispers. . .

I am here.

As she takes her first step she counts her blessings — one, two, three. She peeks through the curtains — a tiger awaiting prey — then rips them apart to feel the warmth of sun on her skin. The windows open with ease, and right on queue, a bird starts to sing his morning song. She listens to the tune and assigns it a theme. An adventure? A new day? A land far away?

Then she remembers. She knows. It is a song of remembrance that she heard long ago. One that you file away, deep in your soul. A melody of growth. A personal tune of your own. The sun seems to rise and shine today, just for her. She thinks maybe it does. Who knows for sure?

They mimic each other, her and the sun, for a while. Slowly, slowly, expanding their light.

The most secret of ritual’s that makes her feel alive. In the distance the water is washing the tides. She watches as the waves ebb and flow, from the sea to the shore again, and back, and then forth. To and fro like the emotions she allows within her to rise, guiding her next step.

No matter how troubled of waters these are, there is no room for fear. She’s not afraid… lets it flow... breathe... release

. . . feel.

She takes a breath down as deep as the ocean floor, and then a sweet release, a surrender

. . . let go. . . let go. . . let go.

Don’t forget the old, but make space for the new. Preparing for a fresh start. One full of love. She is sure. This is not a learned thought, but a feeling, a knowing. The answer settles on her for a moment and she revels in the clarity.

This is not a dream, of course, but an awakening.

So awaken… awaken… awaken… she does.

The morning wakes with her and whispers to her. . .

You know where you came from and you know where to go.. You know who you are.

You’re lost, no more.

Remember. . . Remember. . . Remember.