A Sad Transition Through the Dreamtime

I sleep great.  It hasn't always been so, but I taught myself to meditate myself to sleep.  Works.  Works great actually.  No matter what's going on, I catch my 8's all in a row with maybe one trip to the bathroom to pee, two if I have had a lot of water or tea.  

I generally wake slowly.  Not crabby.  Not happy.  Just kinda dopey and sleepwalk-y.  I have to set my alarm to get up at least an hour and a half before the time I need to leave, so I can have coffee and breakfast and all the meds that require the eating of breakfast.  By the time I leave, I may feel rushed, but I am generally in a good mood.  

Last night I slept great.  I woke to my natural time of 8AM, stretched and relaxed back into the nesty warmth of the blankets because for the next three weeks I can.  Actually I tried to stay there, it being all rainy dark, but couldn't.  When I got up, my body felt good.  Able and ready to face the day.  My mind, alerted by the noise of the grinder and the smell of imminent coffee, slowly waking waiting for the water to boil and the coffee to steep.  My heart.  Oh, my heart what ails you this morning?  I have woken with a tremendous sad heart and nothing in my life warrants that.  

The last I remember last night was going to visit Mama, then nothing until I woke.  What did we do last night?  What did we discuss?  What piece of information did she give me that left such an unwelcome blanket over the start of my day?  

I can feel it fade as my natural buoyancy awakens.  And the day is blustery and overcast.  The wind will blow the rest away.  But still I will wonder what it meant.