I wake up. It's still dark out. I can't go back to sleep so I go downstairs. The clock in the kitchen says 3:30. I think, "Oh crap." Then I do the only reasonable thing to do when you wake up at 3:30 am and can't go back to sleep. I make coffee and drink a cup out on the front screen porch. I light up a dirty rotten cigarette and curse myself for being a slave to nicotine. I ask the saints to help me kick the habit and see the light. It's nice and cool on the porch, a relief from the heat of yesterday. The fish tank is gurgling. Two quail in a cage on the floor are making a racket. Other than that, not much is happening.
I go back upstairs to my bed, thinking maybe I can go back to sleep and have a nice dream. I toss and turn. Sleep doesn't come. Dawn is breaking. I decide to try and mediate; get up on my knees and elbows with my head cradled in my hands. I breathe rhythmically, focusing my eyes on the pattern of my bed sheet. I start to feel pretty good, relaxed, in the zone. I notice when I'm really in the zone, the pattern on the sheet gets larger; when I slip out of the zone, it gets smaller. I marvel at this phenonenon for a while and experiment with it; shifting my focus, making the pattern increase and decrease, advance and retreat. I think, "The mind and the eyes really do work together like a camera." I ponder this for a while.
I decide it would be a good idea to get my camera and see if I can duplicate what my mind and my eyes were doing with the sheet pattern. It occurs to me that taking pictures of my bed sheet is a little crazy, but I don't care and do it anyway. My bedroom window looks so lovely at this time of the morning. I take a few pictures of it too.
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