morning
As the dark tapestry of dawn has been lifted from the empyrean, the morning brightens with hope. As if the midnight hours were punishment for the guilty and condemned. For they have woken up, amidst an hour where the good are tranquilized into a realm of senselessness stupor. Mornings are a stark reminder that new beginnings are indeed, for every living soul in this confusing realm where nothing is ever black and white - good and bad, this realm we call this life. It is the heavenly kingdom for the sinners. And hell for the kind and gracious.
In the quiet of dawn is where life is worth observing. Every minute taken to appreciate the silence that ensues the darkness, before the inhabitants of a residence in a town of municipality, begin to wake at the call of prayer. The stillness of a lake before runners, leave their dwellings and gallop across the pavement in their trainers, as if knowing at the back of their minds - it is the very first vocation to undertake before the day begins. The herculean task of fitness that I cannot fathom, at times. As humans are creatures of discipline and honour, doing what they do - even if there are times they are forcing themselves to. I do the same. We all do, with everything else. It is a matter of priority. When we love something, we will not find the drudgery in it.
Often times I wonder, those who run everyday. Or those who go to work everyday. Do the same thing, everyday. Have they no bad days where it is just impossible to get up and face the dark reality of life. Perhaps, like everyone else. One must deal with pain, death of a dearly beloved, the loss of a income source, the betrayal from a friend or a spouse. Financial crisis. The realization that life will never regress nor progress, it will stay the same - it will be lonely, and dreamless. That life is as good as it gets.
The morning arrives, by God’s merciful orchestration of the universe and everything within it. I interpret it as mercy. When it brightens, and the skies are a shade of pink, amidst blue and white, on the drive to work I steal glances at the firmament. It is beautiful like monet’s painting. At times it makes me forget the troubles of yesterday and the day before, and the day before. Without reason, and without words, I somehow feel within me some kind of hope.
Routines, whatever they are - are beautiful sustenance for the working mind. They tell us what to look forward to. They tell us we must commit to ourselves at our best and worst. They tell us we are worth the effort - the effort to prevail in our vocations - be it financial success or beauty. Be it fitness. Be it career advancement. Regardless of any tragedy that befall you and I, we acknowledge our pain. But we musn’t forget ourselves. God is giving you a morning, a hope that life is bright and better now with each passing day. Now you, my most esteemed reader, must give yourself hope. Through your routines, as you are a creature of great discipline
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