give me the rest

It’s 12:26am and I am still unable to go to bed.  Despite interest in the Avengers, and the Foreign Service Officer Test, I would rather have nodded off at 8:30pm.  How does this keep happening? Caffeine can’t always be to blame.  Feeling absolutely exhausted, yet being unable to pass out, has got to be one of the most consistently frustrating experiences there is.  Prayer, meditation, contemplation, and heart ache all benefit our toughness.  Being tough can be slowly eroded by the impact of an accrued sleep debt.  Men become tantruming infants if the lapse becomes long enough.  Selfishness eventually becomes our wanton counterpart.  Coked up lawyers and alcoholic cops will understand from whence I speak.  People who have lived small comfortable and stable lives will not.  Some ways of those with more of an artistic disposition, and lot in life will forever be mysterious and pitied by those who have always known exactly what they were here after in the hereafter.  The pied piper sits on Sarah Polley’ s doorstep and screams the names of her family members.  The singular problem is that I dare to dream big.  Speaking languages in foreign lands, taking pictures of smiling faces who are about to be destroyed, and guessing the wrong puzzle content on wheel of fortune, are merely three things I can be found doing on idle weekdays.  If I sit below the Spanish moss in Savannah, I can hear the poetic whispers of mild tempered ghosts and transcribe them.  If I sit on a rocky outcripping looking out over the gorgeous Shenandoah Valley, I can dedicate my life to silence and kill the ego which dares to laugh.  So, be with me in this adventure.  Write and read the things which feed the soul.  Listen to that which uplifts, benefits, and enriches the intention behind our very existence.  Dream with me while awake for the lack of sleep, and be humbled by my shortcomings for the sake of retribution.  This climate is charged.  This clock is ticking.  This smile is pretend.  I will play along, in the hopes that it becomes real.  Thank you for the water mark, and the third cookie that was left.  Sometimes we chip away at the foundation, and sometimes it chips away at us.  The roots prevent the erosion, as well as the complete lack of rain.  I am able to see the cycle headed toward me, but I don’t seem to be able to avoid a collision that depletes my chances of having a normal life with a soul like mine.



Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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