By 6 a.m., I'm up.

Tape off, face washed, hair combed, kitchen opened, fires on, and two glasses of water down before the sock puppet has formed an opinion.

Pete appears at 6:30, and soon the dogs begin their morning negotiations with existence. Stretching, yawning, looking underfed despite all evidence.

Tea first, with breakfast. Then breathwork. I do three rounds of breathwork twice a day, about 12 minutes each round, for a total of 6 rounds. In the evening, I do slow Ocean Breath before sleep, more like returning the day to quiet.

Not performance or spiritual decoration. It has become the way I live in this body. Slow breath. Long breath. Holds after the out-breath. Listening. Letting the nervous system remember that it does not have to be at war.

I have left-sided hemiplegia from a stroke decades ago, so the body is not theoretical. It complains, tightens, spasms, adjusts, and occasionally behaves like a poorly managed puppet.

But it is also the doorway.

After the first session, the morning continues. My last meal is later than Pete's, and if the weather and body agree, Pete and I walk. Sometimes just enough movement to remind the body it is still invited.

Around 11:30 am, I do the second session.

That one often feels deeper. The body has been fed, walked, warmed, and settled. There is less argument in the system. The mind, if still there, sits quietly in the corner.

After that, the fast continues until morning.

The day is ordinary, which is to say, precious. Warmth. Dogs. Pete. Coffee. Rest.

In the evening, Pete and I settle in with the dogs and television. Later, before sleep, Ocean Breath. Just breath, body, bed, warmth, and the quiet closing of the day.

Fasting where heaviness used to be.

Breath where panic used to be.

Reflection where confusion used to be.

When the little sock puppet starts offering commentary?

No comment.

Just this breath.

This ordinary, astonishing day.

#fasting #acourseinmiracles #Awakening #Meditation #Mindfulness