I get up early in the morning, 4 o'clock, and I sit at my desk

The words of Haruki Murakami are at once serene and profound: “I get up early in the morning, 4 o’clock, and I sit at my desk and what I do is just dream. After three or four hours, that’s enough. In the afternoon, I run.” In these lines, the great writer reveals the rhythm of a life lived in balance — a cycle of imagination and discipline, of the inner world and the outer body. His wisdom shows that creativity is not conjured from chaos, but nurtured in harmony between thought and motion, silence and exertion.

To rise at 4 o’clock is to claim the sacred hour before the world awakens. In ancient times, monks and sages also sought this hour, for they believed the soul is clearest before the noise of day descends. Murakami does not wake to toil in the ordinary sense; he wakes to dream. Not the unconscious drifting of sleep, but the deliberate act of opening the gates of imagination, of letting the currents of thought flow unbound. This discipline of dawn transforms the intangible into words, stories, visions.

Yet he knows that dreams alone can consume the spirit. Too long in the realm of imagination, and one risks becoming weightless, detached from earth. Thus, when the morning’s dreaming is complete, he turns to the body, to running in the afternoon. Here lies the great balance: the mind soars in the morning, the body anchors in the day. The feet strike the earth, the lungs burn with air, and the dreamer is reminded that he is flesh as well as spirit. This is the harmony of creation — one part sky, one part soil.

History gives us many who understood this balance. Leonardo da Vinci, though a master of art and science, also trained his body, believing that the strength of the hand and the clarity of the eye were as important as the spark of the mind. Likewise, the Stoic philosopher Epictetus taught that the body must be disciplined alongside the soul, lest one fall into weakness. Murakami’s ritual echoes these ancient teachings: true greatness is forged when the intellect and the body walk together.

In his words we also hear the call to discipline. To rise at dawn, day after day, to dream faithfully for hours, requires more than inspiration — it demands devotion. So too does running, which is not glamorous but steady, often painful, always humbling. Murakami’s life teaches us that passion alone is not enough; one must marry passion to practice, desire to duty. It is this union that allows his imagination to flourish without collapsing under its own weight.

The lesson is plain: to live fully, we must cultivate both the inner world and the outer. Spend time each day to dream, to create, to imagine, for this nourishes the soul. But also spend time to move, to labor, to test your body, for this grounds the soul in reality. Neither is sufficient alone; together they create a life of strength and beauty.

Therefore, let us learn from Murakami. Rise early, and do not waste the silence of morning. Let your thoughts wander, let your dreams take shape. Then, when the sun climbs higher, return to the earth: walk, run, labor, sweat. In this rhythm, you will find not only productivity, but peace. For the mind and body, when balanced, create a life that is both dream and discipline, flight and foundation, magic and endurance.

And so his words endure as a guide to future generations: life is not a chaos of moments, but a rhythm of devotion. Dream in the morning, run in the afternoon — and in this dance between vision and action, you will carve out a life that endures like art itself.