I wake in the morning. It is early… very early.

It is dark outside, still and silent inside. I am only barely conscious. My body feels heavy, lethargic, pressed down into the mattress. I feel as if I will never be able to move, never be able to drag myself out of bed.

All I have is this deep physical sensation. My brain is in a morning fog, weighed down with hebetude as  it struggles to rise to consciousness.

Slowly my mind grinds into motion. It begins to form words and thoughts. “I feel overwhelmed,” story-brain thinks. “I can’t manage the demands of the day ahead,” thinking says. “I do not have the resources to meet the needs before me. I don’t have enough energy; there is just too much to do,” mind chatters on.

I have started to attach a story to the physical sensation body experienced upon first awaking.

It is the story that kills me. There is nothing wrong with the physical sense of heaviness and immobility that I experience as my body starts to rouse itself from the deep drowsiness of sleep. It may be nothing more than low blood pressure trying to get my cylinders firing for action. It is just a physical feeling, like the pain when I burn myself on the stove.

When I cut my finger, I do not leap immediately to add words to the physical sensation. I do not build a grand dramatic narrative around my bleeding finger. I put on a band-aid and go back to slicing onions.

But this heaviness, seems to demand an explanation. Perhaps if I can find words to make sense of this feeling, it will go away and be replaced by lightness and ease.

But stories never work. The story only reinforces the weight I experience. It separates me from any awareness of that deeper reality and truth that is my true being.

Instead of rushing to create a narrative around my physical sensation, I need to see this feeling as it is. I need to stay away from adjectives and adverbs. They always are an interpretation, not the experience itself, but labels and descriptors that only reify the feeling, locking it into consciousness.

Rather than adjectives and adverbs, I need to stick with nouns. There is “heaviness” in my body. I am experiencing a certain “lethargy.” There is “hebetude” present. These nouns simply express a human physical sensation. There is no judgment, no unnecessary narrative. I can observe these feelings and let them be. I do not need to change them, reject them, or resist them. They are just there. They cannot harm me, control me, or dictate my behaviour.

Best of all, when I see these feelings simply as sensation without the accompanying story, I know they will pass. Feelings lack staying power. They are inherently capricious. If I do not cause these sensations to become locked in by spinning an endless narrative, they cannot sustain themselves.

Ultimately, the life-force in my body is stronger than the weight of inertia that afflicts me upon first awaking. I will get up. I will find energy for my day. The breath of life will breathe into my being as it always has. Action will happen; decisions will be made.

If I can stay away from the stories, I will navigate with a lightness that is my true and deep nature. I will be moved into my day by that that power and beauty of love that resides deeper than any physical sensation and is more true than any story I might spin in the sleepy darkness of my morning brain.