
As a misty blue morning sways in through the open bedroom window, I blink awake and once again every single fiber of my being silently sings a soft song of infinite praise for the wonder that is melatonin in little white pill form. My sleep had been so jagged and restless for so long that I had started to accept it as a given. It was crazy making. But sleep with a proper dose of whatever this miracle hormone is is the most sound and beautiful, blissful sleep I have ever known since I was a little kid. I had all but forgotten the incredible glory of the feeling of waking up snug and rested and feeling like a fully elegant, hot-blooded thing.
The rain is falling steady and hushed upon the lush summer grasses, each manicured lawn soaking it up while growing greener and thicker by the minute. I rise and grab my coffee as well as the watering can, sipping my dark French roast as I water my indoor plants which have grown into wondrous little monsters right before my eyes over the past two years. Long dangling tendrils, heart shaped leaves, spiky stems, fanned out elephant ears, every kind of treasure you could imagine, all here together crowded around the sanctuary which is the one gigantic wall of glass which the sun rings through for a good portion of the day, no matter the season.
None of this is here nor there for you, of course, is it. For me, though, this is sacred ritual. My bare feet on the cool tile. My well-rested mind conjuring stories, fantasies, imaginings of every kind. I wonder how many would understand what it means to feel excruciating yearning for words. The right words. The best words. The most coveted and sensual words ever written or ever to be. I have written so many bits of things over the decades. I am not sure what they amount to, if anything at all. But all my energy, it seems, is always reaching, searching, craving for, excited for what comes next.
Watching as the fresh water seeps into the dark soil that cradles one of my very favorite leafy creatures, I imagine being drowned in the wide eyes of the ancient poets, collected inside the tears which have fallen since the beginning of time from beneath the eyelids of those precious, tortured souls who seek, as I do, to write anything that could dare soar toward the heavens. My mind becomes a darkening sky, menacing and uncertain. My heart is beating from beneath the earth. Sometimes I get like this, spiral into the storms inside. I don’t know where I belong; above or below or inbetween.
Shaking my head to clear my brain, I pour a second cup and empty the remaining water from the watering can into the sink. Soon I will pack a few bags and make my way to the sea for a mini-holiday. I smile thinking of those tiny newborn baby turtles running toward the gigantic waves. Erratic and hurried, for fear of predators they’ve not yet encountered but sense intuitively with palpable trepidation. Brave, blind, and naive. But something in their brand new bodies remembers the tides they have not yet plunged into. The map they fumble for is already sketched upon their insides.
There is something much bigger than all of this. You can feel it breathing with the sound of the silence. Something so unfathomably grand as to fit inside of us entirely and burst forth when we least expect it. We may not think we know our own way. We may not think we remember the words, the rhythms, the answers – yet they call to us all the time, just the same.
Very nice πππ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, thank you ever so much. ππ»πΉπ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Right from the offset with the enticing description of childhood’s sleep in adulthood (which, I must admit sorely tempts me to want to break my rule and take a supplement to counter insomnia tonight π); to the part where you talk of ancient poets and collective philosophies, before breaking into the glorious images of sea turtles and their ways, as if to foreshadow that profound ending paragraph, which, my goodness is beyond time itself…There were so many breathtaking moments here, I felt like I had to keep coming up for air… Also “plants which have grown into wondrous little monsters”? I mean – Goodness!
LikeLiked by 2 people
I absolutely adore your beautiful thoughts and words, Isha. Thank you ever so, I am so touched you enjoyed this little piece. β₯οΈπ¦ And I very highly recommend the natural supplement β¦ but of course Iβm no professional. Sending peaceful nocturnal vibes your way, love. π¦ππ¦
LikeLiked by 2 people
From Doves to Bats, your emoji choices have their own story to tell! Haha, jokes apart, hope you’re having a great weekend, Allison! π
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha you are so lovely, Isha. Wishing you a most beautiful weekend as well. β₯οΈβ₯οΈππ
LikeLiked by 1 person
β€οΈ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
LikeLiked by 2 people
ππ»πΉ
LikeLiked by 2 people
πππΉπΉ
LikeLike
The siren call. Enjoy the sea.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mmm yes. Thank you so. π€
LikeLiked by 1 person
I beg you to publish your next book as soon as possible! A perfect blend of audio and written is a perfect way. You better do it!!! For real! β€οΈ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha you are a punk and so lovely. βΊοΈππ I gotta find someone to publish meβ¦ thank you for being so encouraging, sweet friend. It means more than you can even imagine. β₯οΈππ»πΉ
LikeLiked by 1 person
That I am! π And if at all possible will help in any way possible to make it happen! ππβ€οΈ
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are beyond. β₯οΈβ₯οΈβ₯οΈ
LikeLiked by 1 person
As are you! ππX
LikeLiked by 1 person
βΊοΈ xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
As are you! ππX
LikeLike