We slept on the beach, coddled by the heat of a fire built on ancient driftwood, nestled into the memory of tiny rocks worn tinier still by endless waves, surveilled by the thousand eyes of the night and strange lights moving overhead. We woke to the light of tiaho mai rā fiercely burning rainbows into the oceany horizon, a bed for the tiny crescent of silver rising up in the latest hours of the early morning. We woke to the world by being removed from the world - no reception, no other bodies, no sounds except for the busy humdrum of the earth's own aliveness, atoms colliding and sliding over and around each other. We came home by going away. Our conscious sleep, pitter-pattered with adding more logs and lifting our eyes, morphed into finding ourselves awake.
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