I woke up thinking about how our personal and collective lives are almost always in the foreground of our experience. Most of our thoughts and actions are determined by what occupies the foreground of our lives.

Unless we cultivate a deeper perspective, no amount of attention to detail will bring the right proportions before our mind’s eye. No matter how noble our struggles to improve ourselves and the world, it is all a futile thrashing when we are not residents of the Heart.

The pull of absorption in the small self, the pallor of sleep, is so strong. To lay down for a moment may mean to sleep for aeons. I think of the many fairy tales that present the pitfall of sleep before us.

There is no hope without the grace that comes in moments of waking. One drop of dew on the grass in early morning can be our salvation. It can slake a thirst we scarcely  know we have until that one droplet meets the eye, and takes hold of us in some profound and unexpected way.

I can only pray for the strength to rise to the challenge. To rise and partake of the elixir of early morning after a night of fitful sleep, to practice obedience to the great rhythm of the world, isn’t easy. The body aches, the mind drags down around the ears. Every cell screams for sweet, elusive rest.