Presence to dawn is a lovely practice to begin the day. This morning, I am present to the pre-dawn stillness in the season of approaching winter. There are no sounds. This is my favorite hour of the day, and I thrive on the enchantment of the quiet and blue hues of light.
As I engage in a daily practice of yoga and meditation in a presence at dawn practice, this is the hour in which many creative ideas are birthed. Soon, everything will change. The blue will lighten as the sun rises, and the first deep golden yellow rays will move gently through the trees, settling on their limbs like snow. The unobserving eye will overlook the gradual shift from the golden light of dawn to a whiter light of day. The red-bellied woodpecker will chirp from the tree in the front yard, and he will fly back and forth from the feeder to the tree. The neighbors will stir. Sleepy children’s voices will fill the air as their parents rush them off to school. The street will be bustling with cars transporting people to work. But in this hour, everything is still and silent.
A female cardinal rests on a small tree limb outside of my office window. Her body is still; she moves her head to look from side to side occasionally, but she appears to be primarily looking at me. Unlike the chickadees and sparrows who will visit the feeder on the porch in several hours and will scurry away if I move an inch, this cardinal is unflinching, unaffected by my movements. Her crest remains lowered, even as I get up from the chair by the window, grab my camera, and photograph her. She simply watches me.
When my father died, my mother had the poem “To Those I Loved” by Isla Paschal Richardson read at his funeral. The poem contained these lines:
And when you hear a song
Or see a bird I loved,
Please do not let the thought of me
Be sad… for I am loving you
Just as I always have.
Soon after his death, my mother told me that a bird flew to her kitchen window and hovered there. “I feel certain it was your Daddy,” she said. The cardinal was my mother’s favorite bird. Cardinals have appeared outside of my windows nearly every day for the past ten years, beginning around the time that my mother became unwell. I am comforted by their presence. I like to imagine that they are somehow connected to the spirits of those who have gone before me, championing me forward in my endeavors toward connection and creativity.
In this moment, I am reminded of one of my favorite poems:
The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep! – Rumi
I encourage you to try a presence at dawn practice, being present in the stillness of the hour before dawn. Listen deeply. Try to keep your heart open and your heart and mind curious. Try writing or creating something that represents what you long for, what matters most to you. Consider using your mindful journaling practice to explore this practice more deeply.
Jen Johnson is a mindfulness teacher, coach, and therapist. She is also a photographer and writer. Jen offers an integrative approach to mind body healing and creative awakening.