the stirring sounds of the day seep into dreams that slowly emerge to consciousness. i make out the click of the door behind you, an effort to contain your morning ritual, a way of honoring the marked differences in routines. faint kitchen noises permeate through thin Korean walls: glass touching wood, steel being laid on steel, water collected in aluminum. and shortly after, the aroma slithers in from under the door, familiar and comfortable…guess, years of drinking coffee will do that.
i turn to my right side, stretching slightly and releasing my muscles and bones once more to sink into some final minutes of rest. the warmth of the bedding envelops me, the thought of the snow laden city tucks under my pillow.
now, your om, your invocation rests in my ears, as you begin an ancient practice on an 11th floor sky rise.
and as you do, i leave you, once again searching for meaning in dreams of my own.