WIth the light shining longer these days, it feels as though I’ve overslept by the time I stir at 5:45am.

Already there is rising sun and chittering birds.

My head still sunk to pillow, I steep in the remnants of my dreams.  No plot or setting.  Just the image of an ankh made from the wood of a Hawthorn tree.

I leave my bed and burn the incense.  Brew the coffee.  Writing time gives way to researching Egyptology, this key of life.

Still mysterious in its meaning, the ankh is thought to encompass both the male and female and symbolize eternal life.

As the mauves of early morning transform to orange and gold, I realize that no masterpiece of words will be crafted today.  Obligations pull as the sun fills the sky.

I remind myself that the Archives are simply a recording.  Some days more mundane than others.

This morning, it’s a cryptic dream of ancient origins that will segue me into Honey Nut Cheerios and a school lunch prep.  Inside these cells of mine that walk through school fund-raisers, yoga postures and gas station fill-ups, there lives a wealth of layers.  Am I just a filter through which lifetimes and dimensions beam?

What’s more real?  Writing a check to the electric company or a dream of the key of life?

Questions that may never be answered.  Just a recording here today.  6:21am on May 19, 2011.  One mother at the computer before her son awakes.  Sitting on an island in the middle of the Pacific, drinking coffee, dreaming, and writing as if any of it matters.  Somehow, in some small way, I can’t help but believe it does.