I do my best writing in the morning. As soon as I wake up, there’s a moment between the first hour and the next when the layer between my dreaming and waking states is still thin, almost palpable. That is my golden hour.
During that delicate space within each day, a myriad of things usually jumps on me for my attention: the cats want food, the phone has news, the coffee machine beeps, the kids may be already up and hungry.
Selfishly, I resort to devotion.
Devotion to the page. To the white, blank space. To the download that if it doesn’t happen right then and there, it may not for the whole day… and then it’s gone. Erased from possibility.
Devotion to myself, to my creative me, the one that serves no other master than my spirit, honoring what expresses through me.
Devotion to you, my generous reader, that gift me a few minutes of your precious attention, staying present to my words on the page.
As I sit this morning and feel tempted to turn my attention to the writings of others, to the cats, the coffee, the news…. I take a breath and decide on devotion. If even just to write these thoughts about it, to let awareness be my witness and remind me about it again tomorrow.