I awoke at 3:40 this morning which I am not entirely upset about. I don’t really like sleeping—I would rather be awake. While I appreciate the physical, emotional, and intellectual benefits of a good night’s rest, I would prefer them in a pill or perhaps a powder I could stir into my coffee.

I woke because I was having a dream about traveling to Sweden to visit an old friend. I am sure I was thinking about Sweden because of my recent exploration of St. Lucy/Lussi and the long dark nights of winter. In the dream I never got to visit him—I just got to the hotel. And as I was sitting in my dream hotel room a woman I did not know walked in and started to get things down off of a shelf. When I told her she was in the wrong room, she looked at me and said, “you are too.” I looked around and noticed she was right, so I woke up.

After I awoke, I got out of bed rather than trying to go back to sleep because I like to enjoy the Christmas lights outside the glass block window of my basement office. We have three repurposed tomato cages wrapped in hundreds of multi-colored lights that look, from the outside, like little trees. From the inside, they look like the Northern Lights—or at least my idea of the Northern Lights—I didn’t quite make it to Sweden, remember. I get to enjoy these only in December when the Christmas decorations are up. And even then, only until the sun comes up (because when I get up at 3:40 am, I don’t get to enjoy much darkness after the sun goes down).

Lastly, I got up because, as I was lying in bed considering the best way to shift the cat off of me without disturbing him, I decided I should write these blogs while it is still dark outside. The ethos of these Advent moments doesn’t lend itself to composing in bright—if slanted—winter daylight, but rather by candlelight and the blue, green, and red refraction of my own personal aurora.

It is 6:13am. I have 45 minutes until sunrise. The house is waking to the day, and I am opening to my light.