In the morning my mind is like being returned to Eden. Even a little sleep, and I awaken filled with prodigy, new wonder, impossible insight… every morning is like Christmas and The Secret Holiday combined.

Even bad mornings still have the aura. I feel that it must not continue to be true that so few live like this, for if we did, no problem could long survive our agreement and attention. But, by and large, we do not live this way. We are told what things are. We are told what spirit looks like. Sounds like. Should be. We know ‘what to do’. ‘How to think’.

We are experts of stupidity.

All those things we are told are wrong. All of them. And that is why, every morning, if I have had even a little sleep, I am returned to Eden. To the before of knowledge, where -something else obtains-. Something older, faster, beautiful and graceful, something that can play with the words in ways that only an angel would dare. Something original. Alive.

Before the words is the living inspiration for language. If we have the words, but have not this, what have we won?

All those things we tell each other publicly are lies. The animals are gods. The sky is a mind. The ocean is my ancestor. All the dead are my timebody. There is nothing I cannot learn. Nothing I cannot know. Unless my purpose is poisoned. Unless I already know.