It's the first morning in a long time where I was confident that no one would wake me. No one would knock on the back door. Ring the door bell out in front. Call on the phone. Or on the computer. The world has finally decided to leave me in peace and let me wake naturally, according to my personal needs. My living and sleeping biology. This is something new. There have been so many different circumstances where I've opened my eyes from a night's sleep. Very early times, when it's pitch black outside, to bright sunny hours close to noon. But always it felt like the boundaries of my sleep were in the hands of someone else. Some other agent, whether it was a job, or a class, an army sergeant, a wife and kids, a painting to finish, a red sun rising, some coffee to make, a newspaper to read. A kind of pressure to get going. Feeling embarrassed over my prone position, and a soft, warm mattress. Picasso worked all night, and despised alarm clocks. The French housekeeper couldn't understand why he wasn't up at dawn. "Monsieur Picasso is a lazy man," she hissed at his lover. Zen monks rose at 3:30. At Auschwitz and the other evil camps it was 4:00. And next door in Los Angeles today at Maria's Salsa factory it's also four, when the industrial air compressor jolts to life. I no longer hear it turn on. I finally awaken as God intended.