My vacation this year consisted of sleeping in late.
Mostly, I stayed in bed after waking up and luxuriated on lying there--no alarm clocks, phone calls, or worries about the day, just a drawn-out waking
up, as if I was floating on the ghosts of pillows, mattress, and covers broken-in the
night before.
My senses belonged to a feast of in-between dreams, REM, darkness, silence, soft light of a rising sun, wafting breezes of an early cool Maine morning, and buzzing of an electric fan. Why shouldn’t there be an honoring of traveling the psychic lands between dark and light.
This being in the moment while waking was a first, and it pulled me back and forth between delicious little sleep and more slow-waking, an accomplishment for a professional insomniac. What I had been missing all my life? Earlier that week a friend insisted that I learn to just “be,” explaining it as having no expectations, questions, or worries in the moment. “Let it happen,” she said. “Let what happen?” I wondered. When I Googled the phrase, I was no closer to understanding it until it happened in my bed, and I let it happen.
My memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at:
My senses belonged to a feast of in-between dreams, REM, darkness, silence, soft light of a rising sun, wafting breezes of an early cool Maine morning, and buzzing of an electric fan. Why shouldn’t there be an honoring of traveling the psychic lands between dark and light.
This being in the moment while waking was a first, and it pulled me back and forth between delicious little sleep and more slow-waking, an accomplishment for a professional insomniac. What I had been missing all my life? Earlier that week a friend insisted that I learn to just “be,” explaining it as having no expectations, questions, or worries in the moment. “Let it happen,” she said. “Let what happen?” I wondered. When I Googled the phrase, I was no closer to understanding it until it happened in my bed, and I let it happen.
My memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at:
No comments:
Post a Comment