I could imagine waking at the very crack of morning. Hours before sunrise. I would have taken to sleep early, as I prefer. But I wake at 4am. It is at this time that they are closer to ‘free’ (?). Finally they can let loose and dance, abandoning posturing illusion. Now the exhaustion and the drink give them courage or has broken will and reserve. So now I can come out and roam amongst- unassuming. In the earlier night I am laughed at or feared, but in the deep evening (*early morning)- their dream bent night, my first waking hours, we can be close to the same.
So I dance and bend and turn and scream about with the momentarily released savages, and when they turn-in, having achieved what they labored for hours, all night- this honesty and spontaneous creation, the liminal, the ritual process. I take a breakfast of tea and eggs with bread and potatoes and hot sauce. Then I release myself back again into the forest or mountains to chase with goats and watch the clouds form and break and wind turn about again.