Eyes Wide Open. It’s one-thirty in the morning.
The world is silent.
A dark haired, young man in the dream awakens me. Our conversation so real, his presence so vivid, his smile so complete, his energy so uplifting. Yet this man – this boy really – he died to early, too young. He speaks to me. He tells me about his death. He shows me the scene before it happened. And it was beautiful. He was so at peace with it – smiling as he spoke in the sunshine of the day.
I awaken with a discomfort in my belly; a deep sadness for this man that would knock me over if I wasn’t already laying down.
I only met this smiling soul once when he was very much alive. We were both awake. We walked together through a garden, a ray of sunshine followed as we moved.
I close my eyes in hopes of finding this man again. I envy his sunshine.
Eyes Wide Open. It’s three twelve in the morning.
The discomfort in my belly is worse. My bowels require immediate attention.
Lying back down, I gaze into the darkness of the air, feeling depleted. Defeated.
And again, my bowels require immediate attention.
Again, I climb the ladder, returning to my pillows. To my warm bed next to my sleeping husband. My mind is churning as I blink slowly. The dark world is now becoming grey, revealing the lattice of our home and the 3-dimensional world that still exists around me. I feel distrusting of my body – of my innards to be exact. I blink again. Last week I could not sleep in our lofted bed, next to my husband. Now my strength allows me to be here.
I am grateful.
I get lost in thought about what it means to be grateful; what it feels to be grateful. Words themselves are empty on their own.
Thankfulness. Devotion. Prayer. Blessing. Gratitude. Love.
I have so many curiosities about these words. There are so many levels of exploration to experience. This messy journey is just beginning to reveal them.
And for this, I am grateful.
Eyes Wide Open. It’s five fourteen in the morning.
I hear the rooster. The goose follows suit. The grey earth displays its color now.
Sleepless nights are a gift.