I’m not a big fan of daylight savings. If they wanted light for the school kids, just shift the school day start instead of everything else. It’s hard to know when to sleep. Once I knew more readily.
To paraphrase Tolkien describing Sam Gamgee at the house of Tom Bombadil – May you sleep the sleep of the content, if logs can be content.
Do you sleep enough? When I trained hard in the martial arts, the Chinese saying “Every hour before midnight counts twice” was often quoted and little heeded.
Having fought cancer, I think that sleep and thought, sleep and wellness, sleep and strength and sleep and healing are companions.
In our family we often misquote Tolkien from “The Lord of the Rings” concerning the hobbits, hole dwellers, and their sojourn in a tree under the protection of the elves.
May you sleep the sleep of the content, if logs can be content.
I always seemed to hear her first, little voice whispering “Dad, I have bad dreams can I come in.” My constant answer, “Sure honey, come on in”.
This night I lay quietly awake pondering some long forgotten computer issue when I heard her door creak, and the slap slide of little footed pajamas creep down the hall. Soon she stood outside the door, “Mom…. Mom….” calling softly in the night.
Whump, the elbow to the ribs made me jump, and I glanced over at my suspiciously motionless wife, so lovely and innocent beneath our comforter. “Dad…Dad…” a little louder now. My mind raced with plots and discovered treachery and then “Dad I have bad dreams…” and I gladly invited her in, steeling myself, hoping she wouldn’t crawl over my head or place her foot “somewhere” else. She snuggled in nicely, and computer problems a thousand miles away I drifted off to sleep.
Ugggh…. someone was crawling over my stomach….
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“You snore too much, I’m going back to my bed.”
Sometimes sleep eludes me. My body and these chemicals may be still dancing their awkward uncomfortable dance. I roll on my side and close my eyes and move into that fugue of waking sleep. Always I am in a granite canyon, where the brown hard igneous rock is broken by the sparkle of crystal embedded deeply within the fabric, the very soul of the stone.
It is a beautiful place, but I am very lonely.
There are no stars or moon, yet I see. Like one of Michaelangelo’s prisoners it is there. Straining with heart, and soul, and mind to break free of the imprisoning stone. I see its dragon eye, redder than a ruby with its pupil of darkest onyx. I am not afraid, but I know should it escape I will have to face it.
I roll on my side, shifting the blanket to ward a draft. I wonder if my memory is addled, and I have written this post over and over. Sleep doesn’t come, I rise and prepare for work.