Anarchy in the Morning

Anarchy in the Morning

I arose at exactly 3:25 am. In the world of Numerology, that is a 10, which, according to wikipedia, is the number of “rebirth.” It has been stated in the metaphysical world that magical things happen between 3:00-3:30am and that if you wake during this time, you have the ability to channel amazing creative gifts.

I have come to recognize the call that pulls me from the depths of sleep at that wee hour of the morning – the time when, seemingly, the entire world is still blanketed in a heavy hush that is not even interrupted by the song of an ambitious bird. I know when I awake in a rush of knowing, images from my dreams vivid and hot before my eyes and my hand aching for a pen to capture them, that there is something waiting for me. There is something that will be revealed. There is a part of my calling here on Earth being handed to me.

This morning, when my eyes flew open, I felt disoriented because I was in my bed instead of the car I had been driving in circles over sidewalks and up and down curbs to the delight of my friend. I had seen images that I am meant to capture and reveal to the world, although I do not know how and feel unconfident that I have the skills to do so. I had received a message that was meant to be shared. I felt energized and inadequate all at the same time.

For two minutes I lay there, eyes clenched shut and willing myself back to sleep. I knew, if I rolled over and gave in to the need to write it out and open up to that creative channel for all that would follow, all sleeping would cease. Sometimes, if I choose to ignore the call, I can go back to sleep – a fitful, unfulfilling sleep, but sleep nonetheless. This morning, however, that would not be the case.

I awoke full-heartedly and wrote out all I could remember. I wrote parts of the message that still foggily lingered in my head, in faith that the full message would come to me when I sat at the computer to truly write it. As soon as I opened to the channel, the images and ideas poured through non-stop. My hand would stop writing, I would feel a moment of relief and sigh as I glanced at the clock and realized I could still get some sleep. I would lay my head down, close my eyes, breathe deep and welcome sleep, only to be bombarded with more ideas.

When it appeared the information was complete, it was 5:00 am. I knew if I attempted to fall asleep then, I would only get another hour or so of sleep and I would be irritable all day long. I felt energized as it was and decided to get a jump on the dawn. In the shower, I planned out my morning. I would stop on the way to the office to grab some yogurt – which I was craving and I found that to be odd – and some juice. I planned, since it was on the way, to stop at the Walmart down the street from my office.

I arrived at 5:59 am – exactly one minute before opening, although I didn’t plan that.

A significant crowd had already gathered in front of the locked doors surrounding the darkened lobby. Many of them were anxiously pacing, while continually glancing at their watches and pointedly observing the “hours” sign which plainly stated the store opened at 6:00 am every day.

I chose to stay in my car, listen to my stereo and use the few moments until opening to apply a dosage of mascara and a brush of foundation powder. With that done, there was still no sign of admittance so I turned up my radio and sang to one of my favorite songs.

However, the natives were getting restless.

At 6:10, I mistakenly thought I saw the lights dawning brightly in the lobby so I wandered near to the door only to find it had been an optical illusion. Now, though, near the door, I could feel the palpable energy of what the hell... why aren’t they letting me in? that was brewing in the crowd. One woman was actually standing with her nose pressed to the glass, glaring at the people inside.

I stood across the parking lot watching the crowd and observing the convincingly oblivious personnel inside the store. One employee continually walked across the darkened lobby with her yellow-plastic-bristled broom – not sweeping, just carrying it – seemingly unaware that there was a wall of glass through which a growing crowd of impatient shoppers were stalking her.

A man appearing to be a manager of sort walked into the darkened lobby and back out. Someone turned on the lights around 6:12. The manager walked back into the lobby and, suddenly, it was as if he could magically see through the glass. He glanced up at the lights, at the door, pointed at it and called over his shoulder to a nearby manager who had been bent over a cart, relaxed, chatting and laughing with an un-uniformed woman. The manager’s chatty female friend tossed her head back and laughed as everyone near them lamely opened their hands, tilted their heads and shrugged, I don’t know.

I swallowed a giggle as I heard the murmurings rumble through the agitated group. Not good.

Two minutes later, a diminutive woman toddled around the corner and pulled the coiled forearm band from her armpit and down her arm, keys visibly clanking against one another as she fumbled the key around in the lock of the exit door first. Go figure. She manually and forcibly opened the electronic sliding door and the angry mob about plowed over her in their rush to get inside.

For one instant, I wondered if I had missed an important notice. Was there some sort of secret HUGE shopping extravaganza going on that I didn’t know about and only happened to be there for it on accident? Or were these people just this pent up already at 6:14 in the morning?

I waited until the scuttle was over and had the impulse to lend the woman a hand as she climbed out of the silk ficus trees into which she had climbed to avoid being crushed.

Inside, the store was a madhouse. They were doing inventory and stocking shelves at the same time. Everywhere you turned there was an obstacle to overcome to reach the items you needed. Stock boys pulled massive, creaking stacks of boxes on straining, rolling carts – gigantic cardboard ants crawling over a picnic. A cacophony of sounds filled the air; explosions of fists going through empty boxes to flatten them; slicing and sluicing razors through packing tape; groaning and sighing from the employee’s laborious and frenetic assignments.

With a dash, several dodges and numerous bobs, I found my yogurt, juice and grabbed some graham crackers for good measure. Then I strolled to the front – well, as “strolled” as I could while being on guard for my life – only to find one check stand open. The checker – notoriously the slowest checker in the entire store – running the express lane was still organizing her money from the bag into the till. Not only was she slow, she was damn ornery. She always is.

I smiled.

People in front of me and behind me tapped their toes and jangled their keys as if their frenzy would somehow convince her to step it up. I knew it wouldn’t.

Another ten minutes later – with only two customers and a total of three items before me – I was out the door, smiling and stifling a giggle, yet again. After all that, I was glad I was still able to smile. It meant I would have an amazing day.

I drove out of the parking lot, scaring a local pigeon from dining upon the Big Mac unappetizingly smashed into the asphalt, and into the morning sun that had risen to peek over the mountains while I had been witnessing the anarchy.

Yes! It is a beautiful day!