6:00am

A brave orange ribbon of light has managed to find its way through the wooden blinds, and into the bedroom. Smashing on the wall, it makes its mark: A line of bright light, a sabre, a beacon, a path. To where?

I’ve been watching it for 15 minutes. It had started as a faint pink line, the juice of a raspberry diluted into thin air. It was a slight nudge back then. Now it is a beckoning call: “come to the source”

I open the door, into the orange glow. The light is still too weak to kill the morning dew. It carries no heat. Just light. And everything is waiting. Everything is powering up, slowly.

And then it appears. The Source. Rising from the horizon, it commands respect. A silent ritual as everyone waits. We all wait. For the Source to feed us.