“You know the day destroys the night; Night divides the day…” – from The Doors, Break on Through (To the Other Side) lyrics and the Egyptian Book of the Dead.
My own saying is that the darkest part of night is just before dawn, my own little font of optimism.
Dawn is something special… it’s the tween place between night and day when color comes flooding into the night sky, birds sing, and the sun is a pool of butter melting over the sharp mountain peaks calling up the dew into mist like souls ascending to the light. The air is fresh and perspectives are even fresher.
According to ancient Celtic lore, tween places are where magic happens, which makes perfect sense to me. They’re always where one thing or place or essence is on the verge of becoming another.
Dawn is the time when we’re first waking up, our souls returning to our bodies from wherever they’ve been, sleep still in our eyes, dreams still lingering in our minds, rising from our warm beds of repose like butterflies from the chrysalis, ready or not to face the new day. It’s the closest we come in the physical realm to being our truest selves, the spiritual beings we really are.
If you’re thinking at this point that I must be a morning person, you’d be really wrong, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Even when I get up EARLY, before sunrise more often than not, I still don’t actually wake up until around 7 AM at the very earliest. I’m just going through the motions of being awake: getting dressed, getting driven to work by my husband, carrying on the occasional incoherent conversation, while all the while still half dreaming or trying to remember my dreams.
I can’t work worth a dang in this state. I do things wrong or forget what I’m doing. I can’t focus. I use the wrong words when I’m trying to say something, often to comical effect, and nod off a lot… Even so, this is the time of day when I’m at my creative best. This is when what I’ve brought back with me from the other side is predominant in my mind.
It helps to waken slowly. This is when my spirit knowing is most able to download into my physical brain. If I woke like my husband does, switching from sleep to wakefulness as fast a light switches on bouncing up like Tigger does in Winnie the Pooh, I wouldn’t remember a thing, as he usually doesn’t. As it is, my time is still limited. I have to write these things down while I’m still half asleep, or I lose them.
What kinds of things? Dreams and poetry, digested thoughts and impressions from things that have happened hours or days or even years before, movies I’ve seen, books I’ve read, memories from a heightened perspective, many an “Eureka!” moment, and some very strange thoughts, many of which make me laugh later one but most of which prove themselves of some value. It’s generally my shortest pieces of writing (long winded though it might seem to some) but also my very best I think.
I wonder if this is the normal place for a writer or artist to find their inner muse? All I really know is that it works for me and, like I’ve said, dawn is a tween place. In tween places you find magic and I do believe inspiration comes in that very same package.
Where do you find your own muse? And what does she look like? I’m pretty sure mine must look like Tinkerbell, flitting all over the place leaving a trail of golden pixie dust, glowing in the dark before dawn like so many love struck courting fireflies….