How wonderful it is, after months of so little sleep, habitual pattern of too little sleep, to simply sleep in.
To sleep long and luxuriantly, indulging in the comfort of letting consciousness drift. Releasing the white-knuckled grip on thought.
To waken in darkness and not feel the drive, the compulsion, to inability to return to sleep. To waken in darkness and turn back into it, fold one's self in it, as if the darkness wants you, needs you. To roll over, feel the cool air across your skin, and return to that emptiness, that nothingness.
To waken at dawn and listen to the wind, the birdsong, and sink back into the softness of sleep as if it were desire, no judgment, nothingness. Thoughtless. Emptiness. Weightless.
To waken after hours of such thoughtless, mindless floating, with no desires, no guilt, no thoughts, no compulsions but to lie there, reveling in that expanded reverie.
The world and the mind with its words will come.
No comments:
Post a Comment