Aches and pains prodded at me, and forced me awake at 3:30 this morning, but I’m now somehow thankful that this happened; to be able to be immersed into this particular hour to have reflective solitude. Even though the sun has not yet appeared, it’s still bright enough to read outside at this hour, thus bright enough to write out here as well. Of all the words that I have learned from other languages that have no accurately comparable translation into English, one of my favourites comes from Spanish. It is the word madrugada. Generally, in Spanish, the word refers to the hours between midnight and dawn, but in a more specific sense, or at least from what I gathered, it refers to the fleeting bit of time around morning twilight/early dawn before the sunrise: the very same time I’m experiencing now.
It’s kind of sad, and a shame, that English fails to have its own singular concise word, of a similar fittingly lyrical beauty, to denote and describe this period of time, especially in Canadian English: here at this particular latitude, here in a province with such a huge expanse of sky to behold, especially now during the time when both the arrival of the full moon and the cherished long days around summer solstice arrive simultaneously, like this moment I’m witnessing now with the strange and fascinating interlude of moonlight and dawn’s early light playing off each other, colouring the world in muted hues I can’t accurately describe, but yet are no less magical. The scenes from my vantage point on my balcony look like something totally otherworldly. It is a period of absolutely wondrous peace and solace as the mind wavers and drifts between the dream world and lucidity, trying to compose itself from the elements of both places. It’s like a perfect time when poems and songs could be best written, when prayers and good-intentions should become more open and heartfelt, and when any creative idea, no matter how wild and crazy, has a better chance of fruition. It’s a fine and glorious hour, of which I wish there were more of during any given day. If we had the right word for it in English perhaps we could enjoy it more. Despite feeling like my ribs and shoulder are being chewed away by some menacing creature now, I still feel really content in at least the framework of mental calmness.
Apart from the awkwardness of both wanting to share this moment
with my lover, and letting her sleep if she was here, there is a bit of blissful
solitude at this hour, despite the fact that it is blended in with this spell
of soreness. I know of one song in Mexican Spanish that refers to what goes on
during the moments of madrugada. It reminds me of the reversed failing of
Spanish for not having a concise accurate word for that of solitude in same
the context as English has, as I’m feeling quite the opposite of what was being
sang about during that hour of the song. In Spanish, there is only the one word,
a sort of false cognate, solidad, that means strictly “loneliness”. I
should be corrected if I’m wrong, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear differentiation or distinction between the negative unwanted anguish of being bitterly isolated and
disconnected as with the feeling of “loneliness”,
and the positive, purposeful, willful seclusion, self-affirming, gratifying freedom from disturbance/distraction,
personal private time of a more
introverted state connected with “solitude” and just being comfortable in one’s stead by oneself. Having spent some time living for a while in a Hispanic culture, my more
natural Northern Anglo/Nordic cultural tendency to actively seek space and time
to blissfully brood and be by myself in peace must have appeared very
strange to them; there in a culture where no one seemed to be comfortable to do anything alone by comparison. I
sought to comfort myself even more with solitude in that city that comparatively
was so much more loud, boisterous, animated, chaotic, disorderly, traffic-congested, and, at times,
more violent than anything I ever dealt with at home.
As for now, especially with Covid restrictions still in
effect coinciding with my time off, I feel that I’m now meant to relish this
part of the day more frequently during summer, if only for the sake of making insomnia
so much more endurable. Given that I’m on holiday now, I think I’ll try to
enjoy more madrugadas with blissful solitude; though doubtfully at that hour, perhaps
I might even get my love to share such a magical time with me. Given how hot it
is expected to be during the days for the following week, it may be the only
part of the day in which it will be tolerable for me to enjoy outside,
hopefully with less pain this time.
