Monday, February 14, 2005

Last night I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and couldn’t believe it was that early already. The same thing at 6:00. Tried desperately to capture some sense of sleep, but it eluded me. My “rest” was an onion-skin of sleep. Thin. A dry and brittle sleep.Sleep shouldn’t be like that. I wanted to sleep the sleep of the mighty oaks, with tendrils of rest creeping inexorably into every part of my body, the roots of sleep anchored deep in the rich, loamy earth. The sleep that gently undulates with the cycles of life as the wind sways my boughs and sighs as I creak gently. A living, expansive sleep. Not this dead thing that assaulted me with its dry tinder, stealing away my life, stealing away my life.

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