I appreciate all the more how cultivating the habit of choosing Light instead of confusion changes not only my inner world, but paints the external as well. Early morning yoga feels to me as though I myself, infinitesimal against the backdrop of planets and galaxies, and infinite tracts of empty space, am the agent of sunrise: I lift my arms to praise the morning, and we move into the light of the sun.

Why not? The molecular blue backlight which has drawn the profile of the trees; the dance of starshine circling and becoming lost in the arms of pre-dawn; the imperceptible-yet-visible crescendo of reds then yellows into the sky's palette; the first tentative call of a bird — as though he himself were uncertain whether the time had come to welcome the return of the conscious earth; the touch of a soft breeze as it sits up, rubbing its eyes; and the answering call from every part of me as my senses create the world… all mine!
… and also all yours. Yours and your lover's and your children or future children, all yours as well. Each one of you as well, the creator of perfection if your eyes are open to perceive it, or of confusion if they are not. More days than not, I lie back down as I step into this living from my dream-wandering away, and close my eyes if they had opened, and allow the perfection of the moment ride on my breath.

There: the day has been made. If love embraces me during these few hours awake, delight. If some small completion comes my way, good. Even a small thing, a color or a smell or a taste… each day contributes what I am open to receiving from it.

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The stars tonight — my stars — are tiny holes pricked in the fabric of what I can see. Behind the fabric, a dazzling light. I will sleep and invite the cloth to fall away, and wake knowing more than I did as I went to my rest.