the light

There is a time of morning between 5:30 and 5:45 AM. A tiny piece of the day when the birds have yet to start their song, tourists have yet to flood Starbucks for their morning jolts, and my mind has not quite come into waking consciousness. Hues of pink and gold begin braking through the clouds of dawn illuminating a sky it seems I'm seeing for the first time. And as light slowly pours through those puffs of white, I find myself saturated in the kind of crisp air one can only feel this early in a day.

Neighbors have yet to rise. This little spot on this seemingly, now, little island, feels completely isolated in its tranquil and zen like morning state. And through the piercing stillness all I hear is the sound of my sneakers pounding the asphalt, my heart beating rapidly in my chest, the new jams of Vampire Weekend and Rogue Wave streaming through my headphones. For these first 15 minutes it's just me and the sky and the most perfect 'good morning' I can imagine. I now have a new understanding of the runner's high.

I make my way down George Street and wave to the small group of construction workers assembling a large wooden fence around the house on the corner. On Hollinger Street I smile at my graffito friend Gandhi, then greet the sweet elderly couple out for their habitual morning walk. The gentleman always nods and smiles, his wife making sure to let go of his hand for just a moment to wave good morning. I cross the street and start down the bike path around Kapiolani Park. Now it's me, a few other runners, and (what appears to be) all of the dog owners in Honolulu. I see my usual favorites: a large golden named Henry, a pair of chocolate labs, and a sweet little mut named Koko. Koko remembers me this morning and I'm soon tackled with kisses. His owner and I both laugh and smile and wish one another a good day. This truly is the perfect 'good morning.'

I finish my loop around the park and join the overflow of caffeine addicts at Starbucks. I try adverting my eyes from any Newspapers refusing to ruin this purely internal and peaceful waking up with any information from the outside world. Then, me and my latte make our way over to the beach to sit in the sand and say hello to the ocean. I'm catching the midst of Dawn Patrol now. A few surfers catch waves before the rest of the day calls them elsewhere and I watch intently. I sip my coffee, close my eyes, and switch the audio to The Light by Philip Glass. This is quite possibly my favorite piece of music. I cannot imagine greeting the day, the ocean, or this breathtaking sky to any other soundtrack. I like to think Glass wrote this symphony with a view like this in mind: with a feeling of radiance and saturation from the most natural and awing of all light sources. I like to think he too once took in a morning like this.

I take a few final sips while walking back home. The birds are now in full song, neighbors move around in their homes, and I slowly find myself moving toward a clearer mind. But perhaps more importantly, in this moment, my mind is still. As I walk up the steps of the house and open the front door I am reminded of a notion by the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu:

"To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

And I realize that that's it. That is the beauty of this early morning, of this sky, and this run, and that 15 minute window: surrender. It is here, in this first greeting of the day, that both the universe and I completely give in to one another. And as the rest of the day unfolds, we find ourselves that much more in tune, and centered, and alive.

Good morning, Hawaii.
Thank you.