All Before Mid-Day

What vibrance, to wake up at 8:30, or even earlier. That specific time this morning I awoke from a dream where I had been chased out of a flooded salt water bay by creatures from the deep only to realize that I was in a children's movie. That gave me a bit of gusto for the morning.

I am tired of inaction, tired of dreaming away each day as the same droll fantasy. So I awoke from the locked excitement of dream, and burned it to fuel an awakening passion for living.

Blueberries and milk for breakfast, in part for no cereal. Cereal breakfasts - Honey Bunches of Oats - make me feel I have successfully completed the porridge-portion of sluggish pre-mid-morning, and can track my way fully around the day. Blueberries & milk; no fiber, no wheat, no crunch awake. Stiff-jawed to think of this now, I decide like I did without thought earlier that this isn't a setback. Enjoy the little sweet and sour puckers!

In action, the difference between less or more wholesome breakfasts is easily forgotten. Action is such a multi-dimensional art - I still must remember to eat well, remember obligations to my human potting, to cultivate the flower. First one must find that will to live. Ultimately I must accomplish both living and living well. There are head-play plans, dress rehearsals, and they are integral to enacting my brilliant play-days.

Multi-tasking: what drummer wouldn't learn the kick, snare and cymbal? The day is a polyrhythmic jazz, the morning the first melodious hook. I must throw my shoulders forward, must nod my head, must walk on my stage while staring at the audience and the concert sky to know my center-stage. I must keep the animals in my head as they mix, even when I myself remain physically still. Not static, but concentrated on all levels.