Every morning when I get up, there are two realities.
The inner reality is right around me. Poppy the Brave almost taking a nap, waiting for the sign we will take her morning walk. walk. A The Cat in his awkward pre-morning "I missed you and all from the night, but I am a little angry and will be until breakfast". The Rabbits, patiently eating away at last night's hay until breakfast. The Guinea pigs, not so patiently waiting for breakfast ("Hey! You! Over there behind the couch where we cannot see you! What are the chances that you can break out food a little early?").
My coffee is warm, the Bible and whatever book I am reading - in this case, The Ladder of Perfection by Walter Hilton (14th Century meditation from England) - on the table. My journal is there as well, ready to record the morning's thoughts; most recently a sort of diatribe about how I am either not using my time effectively or am not focusing the way I should.
The outer reality is right beyond that, not even beyond the walls but as close as the soft unheard click of a power button, reminding me that the world is - at best - unsettled in any number of ways. If I make the same click on my work computer, I can find the same thing - unsettled in any number of ways, questions and comments and concerns and "Where are we?" and "Why is this not done?" almost as prominent as the actual e-mails that contain information.
Of the two worlds, I know where I fit in better. The books and animals are far more of interest to me than almost anything that occurs beyond these four walls and as I am finding, the victories of the outer world are as fleeting as the philosophers and poets of old suggested, even if we ignored them when we were younger (as the young ever do).
And so I sit, think about things, then work to push the soft silent clicks away for a little longer. The quiet sounds of life, the books with their wisdom, the coffee with its steaming warmth, are far more of life than "real life" seems to be.