6:05am. My alarm beeps 13 sharp, incessant shrills that shake me up and drag me out of bed, onto my yoga mat. The house is silent and there's just enough dark to see. I inhale deep…exhale deeper, letting my breath roll over my head. I roll with it - a sweet, pure swell, diving forward, folding over my legs, releasing, relaxing, reviving. I notice pressure in my ears, blood rushing to my head. I let the cool air hold me, my breath rock me. Lightly float back to plank. I dig my fingers into the mat as if it were wet sand, relishing my breath. Exhale. Lowering to chaturanga, I examine the tiny holes and cracks of the wall in front of me, and feel the cold air from outside radiating off the stone. Inhale. Sinking into upward facing dog, lifting out of my shoulders, my gaze travels to the raw wood above my head with its patterns of intricate chaos. Slow blink and sigh. I gently sway my torso side to side, pinballing my ribcage from arm to arm. Exhale. I press to downward dog, letting my core guide me, my glance settling right between my hands. I breathe out all my tension and let my head go, let my neck go, reveling in the calm and the quiet. Jumping my feet forward to stand, I press my hands together, right up against my chest and feel my heart beat for me. I feel clean and pure, like my insides have been scooped clean out and replaced with soft summer light and warm breeze. I want to bottle up this feeling and save it for later, for forever. I feel it rise up in perfect darkness…and I sink into perfect darkness.