“No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.”
-Jim Morrison
The orange mist of the dawn pushes through the veil of the end of the night. The morning wakes up with the flutter and chirps of birds. Street lights fight to stay lit before the sun tips over the horizon. The sound of traffic increases; the rush of cars, the rumble of trucks, the screech of low flying planes flood over the wall of silence that was before.
If you wake up at the same time every morning, you attune yourself to the cycle of the seasons. When exercising outside you realize what the dawn should look like when the workout is over. As the months go on, the seasons change, the morning warms. The sun appears earlier and earlier. In winter the opposite is true. The frigid mornings remain dark, the only guide of time is an unknown constellation peering down as you sweat through the hoodie on your back.
Occasionally a shooting star will cut through the sky trying to be brighter than the street lights or the crescent moon. The moon itself changes more rapidly than you’d expect when you are paying attention, regardless of the seasons. Sometimes clouds will block your view of the stars, or the dawn, or the moon. But hardly often enough to challenge your awareness of time.
And then you stop. For 2 years I woke up between 4:30 and 5:00 every other morning to run, to workout, to sweat, to challenge myself. But then I stopped. I lost focus. I lost routine, I lost discipline. I could have continued, I could have buckled down and gotten over it. I could have dug deep and found the motivation, but I didn’t, I lost it. I lost the dawn.
But as are the nature of cycles, things begin again. There’s a familiar smell in the quiet morning and a fog in your head from waking so early. Water tastes different no matter the vessel you drink from. You may be a different person, but the horizon remains the border between the light and dark. The earth spins at a rate constant enough for us to notice and measure…and our sun rises are numbered.
I want to begin again. I want to return to the Beast. I want its sharp fangs digging into my muscles again. I want to fight off its poison coursing through my veins screaming at me to stop. I want to carry its dead weight on my back.
The last time I faced it, I started with pomp and arrogance, underestimating the challenges and obstacles life will throw at you when you are trying to meet your goals. I faced the Beast last time, but I didn’t feel like it was a fair fight. I was not at my best.
I feel like now I am facing it with a new humility, new wisdom and new wounds. My old wounds are still there, scarred over and hideous. I don’t know if my burdens are heavier or if I just figured out how to carry them better.
And so the Beast looms again, hiding in the shadow of the horizon at dawn. A cracked road spills from its mouth like a dead tongue and on that road I’ll run headlong in my grungy tennis shoes. The path is lined with sweat and blood, unraveling clothes, people and ghosts. As it is with all quests, the destination is not always the most exciting, nor the most important. It is the journey and the unexpected that shapes you.
I invite you to come with me dear reader. If you did not journey with me last time I will fill you in. If you have been with me, share your burdens with me this time. We’ll face the Beast again together.
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