I love my thoughts when I first wake up. Formed of the minerals of my own pre-historic muck. From the antediluvian storehouse of everything I’ve learned since the beginning of my learning, including all the things I didn’t know I learned and all the things I’ve forgotten I’ve learned. Everything I’ve ever experienced, both first and left handed, vicariously and overtly. And everything I’ve sensed both awake and asleep.

So I write them down.

Next to my bed in a dog-eared pocket notebook, with a stubble-worn pencil, I write in illegible, left-brained scribbling, those golden nuggets of halfway-illusions.

Sometimes they are direct communications from my own internal stockpile of wisdom, answers to deep ponderances or immediate issues. Other times they are cryptic riddles begging to be decoded.

And today my first thought was:“ I just got let into the secret club.”