Pitch black outside this morning at six a.m. The change of season feels acute. The evidence? I didn’t kick off my bed socks in my sleep last night. I click on a bedside light and do my knee-hug stretches. Willow does the same and plonks back down to watch me dress.
By the time I’ve done the bathroom thing, put the kettle on and opened the curtains in the front, the sky is just beginning to lighten. I see one torch on the beach, likely an early dog walker. I get it; when I’m meditating to the sunrise I feel like I’m the only one out there. It feels like the whole world is asleep and toasty in their beds. It’s just me, the sand and the water.
I fill up my cafetiere with a ‘House Roast’ from Sainsbury’s; pushed the boat out a bit on this but its very pleasant, almost sweet and very easy to drink. I drift on back to my working days. I’d buy a French blend from Harrods or something from Whittards. I’d have a cupboard full of many different types of coffee. Hazelnut grind was my favorite, on the weekends it would fill the house with the most amazing aroma. It was really the first thing that made me feel human again after a long week of commuting.
It’s not raining right now but since the tide’s high in about forty minutes I put on a fluffy dressing gown and grab my little broom and wrap it in kitchen paper. It’s been raining so I give the deck a quick dry down, discard the paper and put the broom back. I grab my yoga mat from the same cupboard and place it outside, then place my coffee on the table there.
Sitting cross legged, I choose a color and imagine there’s a string of light that color both palms. The light envelopes me, before it lengthens and threads through the top of my head, through to my tailbone and deep into the earth. I follow the imaginary light through the deck, through the stone mooring, through the earth and every time I take a deep breath of sea air the light gets faster and faster until I’m at the core of the earth.
This is a vast cavern, full of boulders made of light – the same light I conjured. My light connects to the biggest boulder I can see. Like filling up at a gas station, the light floods out of the boulder and starts speeding its way back to me. It fills me and then threads out of the top of my head and upwards. Up and up it goes. I can see the top of my head, the roof of my caravan, up and up ’til I can see the whole area, then above the clouds I can see the outline of the country up and up and up ’til the earth is a grain of sand. When I can no longer imagine the distance, I leave the light to continue and return to where I am sitting. I am connected and grounded and full of light. I take a last deep breath and open my eyes, stretch out my legs and do a few head rolls.
My coffee’s quite cool now as I sit down to watch the tide come in, but that doesn’t really matter in the big scheme of things. It’s all relative.