Speaker 1: Hussle, study us. There is an hour somewhere near the
Speaker 1: start of your morning that does not yet ask anything
Speaker 1: of you. It is small, it is steady. It rests
Speaker 1: beside you, the way an old friend rests in a
Speaker 1: chair across the room, not needing your attention, simply being near.
Speaker 1: Notice if you can, what the light is doing right now.
Speaker 1: It is moving across the surface of your day, the
Speaker 1: way a hand moves across still water, gently, without urgency,
Speaker 1: leaving the soddest trace. You do not have to chase it.
Speaker 1: You do not have to follow it. You only need
Speaker 1: to let it land. Take a breath. Let the breath
Speaker 1: have its own shape. Don't shape it, don't count it.
Speaker 1: Don't try to make it slow or deep or meaningful.
Speaker 1: The breath knows what it is doing. Your only job
Speaker 1: is to allow it. This is the hour that holds
Speaker 1: you lightly. It does not grip, It does not demand.
Speaker 1: It does not keep a record of you yesterday or
Speaker 1: you tomorrow. It simply rests beside you, asking for nothing,
Speaker 1: offering every thing. The world outside is already beginning to
Speaker 1: want things from you. Your phone will want you, your
Speaker 1: inbox will want you. The voices of people you love
Speaker 1: will want you. The errands and the obligations, and the
Speaker 1: soft obligations that don't even feel like obligations. Yet they
Speaker 1: will all want you in their turn. But here, in
Speaker 1: this hour, nothing wants you nothing Paull's The whole morning
Speaker 1: is a field, and you are standing at the edge
Speaker 1: of it. And the field is saying you don't have
Speaker 1: to walk yet, you can stand. You can simply be standing.
Speaker 1: Notice the weight of your body in this moment. Notice
Speaker 1: where you are resting, whether it is a chair or
Speaker 1: a bed, or a floor or the inside of your
Speaker 1: own breath. Something is holding you. You are being held.
Speaker 1: There is a kind of quiet that doesn't fix anything,
Speaker 1: It doesn't teach you anything, it doesn't heal you. It
Speaker 1: is the quiet that simply accompanies you, the quiet that says,
Speaker 1: I am here. You are not alone in the start
Speaker 1: of the day. Let that quiet be enough. Take another breath,
Speaker 1: in another. Don't count them, don't name them, just let
Speaker 1: them happen. Your morning whinne CON's in ennist will be
Speaker 1: busy enough. There will be words to speak and words
Speaker 1: to listen for. There will be doors to open and
Speaker 1: doors to close. There will be the small decisions that
Speaker 1: nobody sees what to wear, what to eat, how to
Speaker 1: begin the first conversation, whether to laugh early or to wait.
Speaker 1: There will be all of this, But for now, before
Speaker 1: the day asks, you are given something rare. You are
Speaker 1: given a pause, A pause that is not lazy, a
Speaker 1: pause that is not avoid a pause that is the
Speaker 1: gentle authority of a beginning that hasn't begun. This is
Speaker 1: the soft skill of an unhurried morning, to let the
Speaker 1: morning be morning before it becomes your day. And there
Speaker 1: is something else here, something quieter. Still, there is the
Speaker 1: realization that you have survived every morning up into this one.
Speaker 1: You have opened your eyes ten thousand times, and each
Speaker 1: time the world waited for you. The world did not
Speaker 1: move without you. The world was patient. The world will
Speaker 1: be patient again today. You do not have to be
Speaker 1: efficient at waking up. You do not have to bring
Speaker 1: You can rise the way the sun rises, softly, by degrees,
Speaker 1: with the sky changing behind you, without your effort. Let
Speaker 1: this be your permission. You are allowed a slow morning.
Speaker 1: You are allowed to sit for five more minutes and
Speaker 1: listen to nothing. You are allowed to not yet know
Speaker 1: what the day is for. You are allowed to feel
Speaker 1: the cup of warm something in your hand without yet
Speaker 1: drinking it, just to feel that warmth, just to know
Speaker 1: it is there. The morning has its own pace you
Speaker 1: are allowed to match. Notice gently the sounds around you,
Speaker 1: whatever they are, the hum of a building, the voice
Speaker 1: of a street, the particular silence of a house that
Speaker 1: is still sleeping. Birds if there are birds, cars if
Speaker 1: there are cars, your own breath, if there is nothing else.
Speaker 1: None of these sounds is asking anything of you. They
Speaker 1: are simply the floor of the day being laid down,
Speaker 1: plank by plank, sound by sound before you walk on it.
Speaker 1: You are not behind, You are not late. The hour
Speaker 1: you are in right now. This hour has all always
Speaker 1: belonged to you. It was here before your alarm, It
Speaker 1: will be here after your first task. It is the
Speaker 1: quiet rim around the day, the soft padding between the
Speaker 1: night and the noise. Take one more breath, and let
Speaker 1: this breath be a thank you, not to anyone in particular,
Speaker 1: just to the morning itself, to the light, to the air,
Speaker 1: to the fact that you are here, awake, in a
Speaker 1: body that is breathing without your help, in a day
Speaker 1: that is not yet begun. Thank you morning, Thank you
Speaker 1: for waiting, Thank you for being the hour that holds
Speaker 1: me lightly when you are ready, and only when you
Speaker 1: are ready, let the day find you. Open your eyes,
Speaker 1: feel the weight of your feet if they are near
Speaker 1: the floor, Feel the chair beneath you, feel the air
Speaker 1: on your skin, and begin slowly in your own time.
Speaker 1: This is your morning, this is your quiet morning, and
Speaker 1: it is holding you still