Saving Sleep

Went for a walk in the midnight drizzle. I lay my head on the pillow - nothing happens. Sleep is something one should not wait for, yet I find it to be an endless interval, one I can never cross easily.

If I cannot sleep I go back to work. The television is my primary source for background noise (I never watch anymore). I used to write with music, but recently I have grown more accustomed to writing in silence.

Work is my first option while waiting for slumber because if all I do is lull about, waiting for that sad whisper - - When I'm awake, I think. I think alot. Awake or awaiting dreams there are two things primarily on my mind - 1) The future 2) Death.

I harbor assmesments of both in abundance. I think about the collapse of civilization, and how indubitably I was born in the wrong century. I belong in the Roman era, but I if there were any way for me to be a part of Victorian England, oh I would jump at the opportunity. Also, post-apocalyptic times; just not here - not now. But here I am, and I try to make the best of it.

Death. I have always shown an affinity towards the matter, more so in a scientific sense, but spirituality is a big part of my life, and the places I have been - graveyards at midnight, the deep mountains of Mexico, marching with the brujas and cullanderos - bewildering. But usually I dwell on my grandfather's death (soon, sadly), my mother's death (inevitable), and my own.

My grandfather is my world. He and my grandmother loved me, raised me, and were it not for them I probably would not have had much of a life at all.

There are things that I have done, instances experienced where I probably should have opened the door outside of existence, but for whatever reason, here I reside. It sustains this nagging ideal that maybe I am destined for something, even if on the outisde it appears to be the most insignificant action; be it turning on a light switch, crossing a street, or staring at a discarded candy wrapper - I am still on this planet because somewhere something is going to happen and I will be a part of it.

Everyday things happen, and I am a part of them.

When I was eighteen years old I disappeared. Neither family or friend new what had happened to me until I made that phone call, telling them everything was fine. Eventually I found my way back home, having lived enough for five lives. I don't think I will ever speak of what happened during those times, not here - I may drop a hint or two now and again - and even if I were to die tomorrow, I will know what kind of person I am or was, and if you believe in a higher power, that higher power will know what kind of being posessed this body, and what kind of spirit kept peace within the flesh.

Lately, I look around, and I am starting to ask myself those questions again. Could I give it all up for a trek through the unknown? Could I do it again?

Time will be the keeper of those tales.