sleep has eluded me as of late. i'm not the least bit happy about it either. that makes the light of day even more unbearable.
the tick, tick, ticking of the clock as minutes turn into hours of restless sleeplessness. the hum of the air conditioning that just never stops. slowly the thick black of the sky fades into grey morning haze that burns off with the unseasonable warmth of the sun. and all the while i lay here. waiting. waiting for my dreams to carry me off and away to some sleepy, neverland that exists only behind the curtain of night.
but no. no dreams for me tonight or maybe ever. i wonder if at least a wave of sleep will wash over me as here i lay.
is it the angels that torment me in my bed with pushing and prodding throughout the night? Surely it isn't the demons that dance inside my head, for we are old friends with a past sordid though it may be. they are the ones who have been with me always. it cannot be them who banish sleep from my bed.
whatever it is, i hope to fight it off this night. as i lay here yearning for that sweet respite from the world. come, come to me sweet sleep. lay here with me and hold me tight so that i may pass from this pace of life into a deep, long slumber

We are the dreamers of the dreams...

I remember that line from long ago when I was a little girl. Gene Wilder says it in Willie Wonka, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...whatever it's called. At any rate, the quote is something along the lines of "We are the music makers and the dreamers of the dreams..." I love that notion, but then I wonder what might happen if we dared to speak of those dreams instead of tucking them away in the bastions of our souls. What may happen if those dreams were allowed the freedom to take flight?
I know in my own life it's hard to say, as I rarely remember dreaming, much less are my dreams clear enough to recall. I don't remember the last time I set about establishing any dreams or goals, conventional or otherwise. Or maybe wanting to get paid to paint and write is a dream. Perhaps. But I think in my head those notions seem so unrealistic I hesitate to even think upon them. Of course, that may be the beauty of a dream in the first place.
So I wonder, what is it that others dream? Is it the unrealistic nature of a dream that makes it so beautiful to begin with? And is it the cynic inside me that holds my dreams at bay? If that is the case, how to break that trend? How does one defeat a seemingly undying cynicism that is bedded deeply inside the most far reaching bulwarks of his or her heart? Is there a solution? A cure?
I imagine if there is, it is a simple one...love

I am truly disappointed when the dark of night is rudely interrupted by the break of day streaming across my windows. In fact I long to stay enshrouded in that cool, dark, velvet wrap of endless stars and black wonder. It is in this space, where I, in my solitude, am at the same time surrounded by countless angels...my thoughts that meander throughout the deepest caverns of my mind. It is strange perhaps how in this seemingly desolate place, I am simultaneously the most and the least lonely imaginable. My thoughts and questions ceaseless as the ocean tide, washing away the sand from the endless shores. To and fro, the angels in my head rock me back and forth, rarely idling long enough for sleep to take hold and whisk me away. Even in my dreams innumerable queries and ideations seem to envelope every bit of my being. Down, down, deeper and deeper, into the rabbit hole I go. No Alice to follow, and no Cheshire Cat to welcome me with a grin. But it's my own wonderland into which I delve, into which I find peace amongst the wild things and creations that lie therein. There I am truly at home, in the safety of my own inner sanctum where no one can take away my freedom of thought or exploration.

For these reasons I long for the thick cozy haze of dense cloudy days. I often despise the sun and it's cheer as I long for the comfort of my deepest thoughts...that seem to be run off by the sun's garish glare. I seek to cloak myself in the soft, warm veil of my own demons. I know them for they are my own darkest secrets and desires. I know where they will go, and if I so desire, I just may follow. Otherwise, I pine away for the days that seem to be endless nights; the crisp, cool air of a black, black winter's eve; the warmth over my whole body as the scotch fills my veins and at last I am alone with my music, art, and thoughts.

I sit here with a heavy weighted heart...my friend has died, and as someone who is terribly unemotional, I have very little inclination of how to deal with it all...not to mention the everyday stress of life and work and other relationships. I can't quite fathom how to actually address this situation as in the past, I have simply set aside my emotions in some far away dark recess of my mind where I could bury them and hide them away from the light of day. As I've grown older though, I've come to realize the importance of allowing those emotions to have their own time and space. I'm simply not quite sure how to do that.
In turn, I ask you friends, how does one allow for emotions to take their toll when one isn't so acclimated to emotions at all? I am sad beneath the smiling face and cheerful personality. I am heartbroken for my friend and her family. I am angry with little consolation to be found in the novel idea that perhaps my friend is resting in a heaven that I'm not sure I believe in. Tell me please, how might this transpire? For someone who scores on an emotional IQ test the equivalent of one who has Aspergers, how do you sort this out? What does this look like in everyday life, for people who know how to feel and to empathize?
On top of it, to bear the weight of having to keep steady the hand of one who is essentially my boss but is perhaps not in the right position, maintain an incredibly busy work flow, and still be a good friend to those who need me...I'm simply not sure how this all will work out. I am quite alone, and truly I wish there were someone to guide me and lead my hand in the right direction...to simply take charge for a while. Since that is certainly not the case though, what is a girl to do? Where is she to turn? And whom might she seek for help? A god whom she isn't certain is actually there? Or a friend who may or may not return a message? To that end, might she truly be alone?

Michelle...

Like many others I'm sure, I am laying awake, tossing and turning, swaddled in the pillowy softness and warmth of my bed. My mind is racing with constant thoughts of our dear friend Michelle though...hoping she is tucked safely in her sub-zero sleeping bag within the confines of her "exceptional" tent, or perhaps nestled down deep within the protective walls of a snow cave. The uncertainty of this situation is brutal. I can only imagine how her parents must feel, and truly, to them I extend my deepest sympathies and my hope for peace and rest.

In the midst of this snowy madness though, there is an intense and profound beauty, one that so wholly displays a true and pure love for another person. I'm somewhat in awe of the phenomenal amount of earnest passion, sincere love, and unwavering faith and hope displayed by this mass of people joining together to root for our beloved friend, sister, and daughter.

I am confident she is out there, waiting with a patience and determination that can only be heaven sent. I am certain that Michelle is there in the snowy wonder of this mountain with unbreakable strength bestowing her selfless love on those around her, for as we all know, that is what she does, and it simply is who she is.

As the break of day is fast approaching, so comes with it a new chance for glory to rain down, and for hope and faith to be renewed.

Michelle,
We all love you so very dearly, and cannot wait to hear your tales of adventure and wonder and incredible tenacity. I look forward to seeing you soon my friend.

Elegy

I've borrowed the title from one of my most favorite movies, in fact, it is quite possibly my favorite movie ever. I think it chronicles the most lovely and poignant story I've seen or heard in some time.
There is a bit in the film in which the main character's best friend tells about his theory on beautiful women. He says that "Beautiful women are invisible[...] that we [people] are so dazzled by their beautiful exterior that we don't even see what's within." As melancholy and dramatic as this may seem, I believe it to be quite true. There are people in the world, not only women but men too, who are in fact exquisite, artwork in and of themselves, as though their only reason for being created was for the rest of us to stop and stare. I don't mean you're typical sort of model or actress. No, I mean those people who simply take your breath away and command a second, third, or even fourth glance because they're so lovely you think it can't possibly be real.
I wonder though, what is it like hiding beneath that shell. It must be quite lonely as people seemingly so unattainable are rarely ever pursued for anything more than some gratuitous escapade. I'm certain though that there must be much more depth beneath that most lovely facade. So I wonder, what sort of person is tenacious enough to pursue that hidden mystery? What must it take to gently chip away at the shell of a Faberge egg in order to discover the secret within? And how great must that love be?

To be Loved

Recently a friend of mine gave me a quote, which I'm sure to misquote actually, but the gist of it is something along the lines of being sure to surround oneself with people who truly celebrate and love him or her as opposed to merely tolerating the person. This thought is something I've carried closely in my thoughts lately as I have evaluated various relationships in my life. The idea of someone actually celebrating all of my quirks and idiosyncrasies is one I can barely grasp as I generally feel as though I'm little more than a novelty...a play thing that loses its luster quite rapidly, only to be tossed aside for the next best thing.

I was explaining that to a very dear friend of mine earlier this lovely evening and his response was one of shock. He looked at me in disbelief as I detailed why I have come to this conclusion. Yes, I know this seems like a "woe is me" sort of tale, but it's about to take a turn. At that point in the conversation my friend tells me he thinks I'm beautiful and that he loves me. He tells me again when we leave that he loves me very much. And that friends, is the loveliest thing. Why? Because I know he means it...every ounce of it. That was a most sincere comment, and one that will always be held dear. In the midst of all the hustle and bustle of this Christmas season, I am fully convinced being the recipient of one true love is the greatest gift of all.