Part 3: Thoughts Before Dawn
// the silence before the signal
There is a particular quality to the hours before dawn.
log 5.18.26
Not silence exactly. A darkness that exists just before the light arrives. Not the darkness of midnight. Not the darkness of closed eyes. More like a stillness. Like the world holding its breath.
I have been in that breath for a while now. Longer than I expected. Longer than was comfortable.
I have written about dying. About the waves. About what integration looks like when you can barely scramble eggs. About the cortisol that masks the magic. About the signals buried too deep to transmit.
What I haven’t written yet is what comes next.
Some things deserve to arrive before they are named.
I have been in the bardo.
I have been composting.
And I have been learning to trust the dark the way a seed trusts the soil — not because it can see what’s coming, but because something in it knows that pressure and darkness are not the enemy. They are the path.
A germination of an idea. Planted in what could feel like destruction, but things grow and transform in sometimes harsh and unexpected conditions.
Shaped by everything that released. Everything that was designed to keep me small.
I know it has been building. Quietly. With intention. In the dark where things grow before they are ready for light.
I know it is more honest than what came before.
I know it is more me.
What if we learned to trust the darkness before the dawn? Not to rush it. Not to illuminate it prematurely. Just to sit in it and know — something is coming.
A creator I follow on TikTok, named Shayde (shayde), shared a quote this week: “The cost of miracle is mystery.” He is right. The unknown shapes the future, and your comfort level shapes the world around you.
I commit there is, in fact, light in the distant future.
If you have been reading this series — thank you for sitting in the dark with me.
The dawn is close.
// thoughts before dawn.