I'm sitting here in my living room, mired by an early, uninvited awakening. It was not a thud. No alarm. Just a gentle frazzle of sunlight stealing me from night. In no way had my body rested. Donned in dawn, my underwear-pajamas slightly slid down revealed a sad vision of man, sloppily tangled in ruffled sheets. Exposed. There is nothing pretty about me, I thought, as I pondered if the sunlight were judging what it saw.
Before reaching my current perch on the living room couch, I sat in bed flicking through news in search of something good, but simultaneously only pausing on the bad. Glorifying in the doom, really. It was the pinch I needed to prove I was indeed awake. All day I seek the pinch of pain to prove I am not dreaming.
Coffee, cats, clothes, splashof water, and 20 steps later I find myself in the planning pose, here in the living room. The planning pose is very much like the wake-startle, sans the sheets and exposed crack. It involves me laying here on the couch actually reading the articles I perused earlier. I like to rationalize that the information gleaned is to set me up for a day of human interaction. Perhaps it is a study session to get up to human-social-speed. Right now it is dawning on me -- my second uninvited dawn of the day -- that perhaps behavior isn't responsible humanity, it is prolonged self torment. The tighter pinch. The proverbial purple nurple of challenging my awakened state.
Cats gather around me. One at my feet and the other curled beside my thigh. Am I king to them? They are fed. Surely they are not here in need of something. Have I done something to warrant this attention? My affection toward them is inconsistent. It ebbs in startling fits of overly attentive playing or petting followed by long droughts of disregard. My ambivalence as their king gives me this luxury, and supports my theory that they may think I am indeed king. This is the type of cyclical example loop I am using as evidence to propel me from the underwear'ed fat man the sun observed moments ago. Evidence that says: "See, Sun, I am more than the larva you spotlighted. I am a god! The cats are evidence! And they sleep in your sun-puddles in undisputed, recognizable perfection, not the ugly crack-exposed heap you found me in. You love them. They love me. So, pinch yourself, and stop judging me!"
Obviously the coffee is working, or maybe the cats are doing their trick: making me feel accepted in the universe. Whatever the case may be, I pet my cat. Dander floats into the sun's beams and crystallizes in the air. If you've ever seen dust in a thinly sliced light beam at dawn you know: Hope is the accidental luck of shadows bouncing off of the chaos but always cutting through. Always meeting a surface. Penetrating the thickest of atmospheres and colliding on flowers and alleys, on well planned solar panels, on potholes, through any crack, on my crack, projecting obtuse triangles, acute bi-angles, and isosceles quad-tangles, even while penetrating deep into the sea, revealing all the magnificent details of art, and occasionally falling on me. Trees bend to it.
I give the cat closest a good scratch behind the ear and look out the window at the trees greening in spring. A dog walker pauses to pick up excrement. A squirrel cowers behind a branch. The ramen restaurant on the corner is cut through by light warming empty tables; tables preparing to slurp up hungry, hopeful lunchers into the belly of contentment. Dark, seemingly an antagonist to light's hero demeanor, sheepishly slinks away, humbly realizing it is not the opposite of light, but the absence.
"Beautiful," I think as I see the spicy broth of life warming in the sun glow beyond the glass. Yes. It is beautiful. It really is. I couldn't see how much in the dark but the rhythm out the window is now clear. I turn to my cat, who is winding down a purr. We share a slow-blink gaze at one another as the last sliver of dawn is replaced with shadow in my house. He moves to the window sill to soak in every second as it departs. "Welp, buddy. Nothing left now. Time to bend to the light"