Constellations and the Grace of a Late Sunday Morning
Sundays have a quiet way of forgiving a late alarm. I didn’t wake up until 8:00 AM instead of 7:00, but rather than starting the day with guilt, I let it be what it was: a slower beginning.
After stepping outside with Evie for our walk, I finally sat down to write. The usual morning post went out smoothly. I logged into my blog’s account, dropped a couple of thoughtful comments in the Web3 space, and for once, didn’t rush through it. There’s a rhythm to mornings like this that doesn’t need forcing.
I even carved out a few minutes for meditation, guided by a video. I’ll admit, I’ve been letting that habit slip. I’ve blamed it on “not having a dedicated space,” but if I’m honest, that’s just a comfortable excuse. Still, when I finally showed up, it was worth it.
During those quiet moments, an image unfolded in my mind:
Air. Breath as a source of magical fuel that ignites every internal cell, transforming the body—or rather, the container of the body—into a constellation drifting through deep space.
It was simple, but it stayed with me. A reminder that presence doesn’t require perfect conditions. It just requires showing up and breathing.
Later, a poem touch my heart!
Later, while engaging reading a poem, I watched something beautiful happen. A comment caught my eye: One saw it as an anthem for neurodiversity, latching onto the idea that we aren’t “broken signals.” I add mine... Here is the poem I am refering, writen by 
Of course, not everything is checked off. I’m still pending to review my list of things TO DO.
Productive mornings don’t have to look like marathon sessions. Sometimes they’re just a walk, a few written lines, a shared idea, and the courage to breathe through the noise. Sundays like this remind me that consistency isn’t about perfection. It’s about returning.
Again and again and again...
To the page.
To the practice.
To the breath.
To the Web3!
Thank you for reading!
(Don't forget to expand this Constelation with a coment and sharing!)