Fighting sleep is my specialty. My personality and my genes were made for the night. I have a day job, and I'm a compete zombie until well past one o'clock in the afternoon.
During my vacation, my body immediately reacted, reverting back to its natural nocturnal state. I couldn't sleep at all the first few days, and finally, one June morning, just after sunrise, I knocked out, awoke around noon, and felt whole again. I was back to normal, stepping out with the bats, holding conference with the street lamps. She spoke to me again. The city and I became reacquainted. She told me all her secrets, the kind she was too afraid of telling to the day shaman. The night shaman, he knows all about secrets; having them, keeping them, and using them.
If I nod out for ten minutes, it's like gaining a full night's rest. A whole eight hours, and I refuse to fully abandon my comfortable coma. A curse it is -
a curse.
The sun is not my savior. Blue skies can keep their hope. Give me the moon and the night, and the shadows that hide purity, for the purity that thrives through the darkness is a fighter, a survivor, and sometimes - if needs be - a killer, but most of all, it is a leader with fire for its spirit.
I need a beach trip.
1 comment:
I find that nighttime is almost intoxicating for me. It is so much easier to share something personal at the end of the day when the sun is no longer shining it's bright perspective on truth. There's a different interpretation on all things in the middle of the night. It's the interpretation I prefer.
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