This morning, I momentarily woke up at 5am, and briefly reflected that if I were to be offered and accept the position at Open Harvest, this would be the time I would need to be getting up on a regular basis (though not every day, nor even every week, but once every two weeks). Depending on how long I feel like procrastinating getting my car fixed, I would also be biking to work in the cold pre-dawn air (which will be even colder with the coming of winter). And the thought hit me again. Am I completely nuts?

Nuttier than a fresh batch of cockroaches. (I have decided to retitle the nutbar crunch I occassionally make "cockroaches"; this because when a coworker observed me eating the dark colored clusters one day, she remarked, "looks like you're eating a bunch of cockroaches.")

Now is the time to test my mettle.

I spontaniously devised a plan to determine whether or not I was really ready to get in the habit of waking up and venturing out into the cold morning air at such an hour. Since I was already awake, it was perfect.

If I can't do it today -- right here, right now -- then it's time to rethink this whole thing.

I arose from bed, threw on some long pants, put on a sweatshirt with a hood over my t-shirt, grabbed my backpack, and was out the door. By 5:15, I was on the road. Into the darkness of the pre-morning.

The air was cold, but not as cold as I imagine it will be next month. First lesson: Next time, wear gloves. Second lesson: I can do this! Third lesson: The morning can be a beautiful time for aliveness.

Ok, so in some part of my mind, I already knew lesson 3, but so many years of my life were spent being conditioned to associate early morning with dread (alarm clocks, rushing around, debasing "worship" rituals, school), my psyche might need a little retuning to find the power of the dawning sun.

I found it as I rode east along this stretch of river, watching the brightening sky herald the sun's approach.

By the time the sun was truly coming up over the horizon, I was out in farm country, pedaling in the grass next to a narrow two-lane road where cars whizzed by. I decided to just stop and sit to watch the sun come up, but when I tried to do so, the barbed wire fence in front of me marred my view. So I did what any sensible creature would do: Found a way around the obstruction.

Seated on the edge of a large field, I watched the sun. Then I cast my gaze to earth, and found...

...That whatever machines they used to cut and harvest the crops obviously hadn't done a very thorough job, at least in the corner of the field. I extracted the small yellow black eyed peas from their pods on the discarded plants that had fallon below or outside the cutter's range, until I had a small bunch in the bottom of my makeshift plastic bag container; when I grew tired of doing that, I rode on.

Back at the Mideast Base, I observed that my trip had taken roughly three hours. Eager to see what I could do with the product of my spur-of-the-moment harvesting operation, I put the peas in a kettle, threw a little water and some salt in, and boiled them until they were fairly tender.

I never remembered black-eyed-peas ever tasting that good. In fact, as a little kid, I remember them tasting distinctly bad, so much so that I hadn't ever bothered to try them again later in life. Now I might have to rethink that policy.

I spent some more time outdoors meditating, and attempted to devise rituals with which to honer the sun, sky, and earth, as I continue to carve out a spiritual framework that works for me. I think the casting went well, especially considering my lack of experience and formal training.

Though there are more scattered thoughts I might like to write, I want even more to go to bed now. The past week has brought a dizzying barrage of experiences and choices. Despite a few misgivings and uncertainties, I remain convinced that I have chosen the best path available. Tomorrow promises to be exciting in all sorts of ways. So rather than expend more energy belaboring the point, I'll conclude this in anticipation of the next phase of my existence.