What do we wake from?

What do wake into?

What is the space between?

Approaching Natural Rhythm

to wake 

and not rush

natural rhythm

of rest 

sunlight 

in your eyes

wake

yes

wake

Waking and breathing
Normal gift
given over and over
Are you grateful still?

Bethany

Bethany was awake
She listened to the church bells
toll through the calm morning
How many times in her life
had she heard that sound
How much longer would
she hear them
She tried to not think
of the answer
She thought of all
the little things she had
to do today
and understood that
life is really nothing but
little things punctuated on
occasion but larger events
that were the exceptions and
not the rule
She looked at the clock on her
nightstand and thought it odd
when she looked at it's face
Turns out it just needed
to be wound up again
Time didn't matter
The hour didn't matter
Only her own actions mattered
In this long and vast life
those moments of small joys
were what mattered
She thought this and
was pleased with herself
She looked at her clock
and even though
the time was wrong
she pulled the sheets up
over her body
and let her eyes close

Waking & Walking

This hour of waking
Have you slept enough
Cough
Throat is sore
Cannot go back to sleep
Sit down
Find some words
Tell them
what to do
They obey
Rest on the page
like you told them
Look at them
Try to decide
if it's good enough
They don't know
what you're thinking
Change them
or leave them be

walking through doors
memory
years collapse
in order no order
water colors spilled
cover the canvas
turn the knob
walk through
endlessly repeating
turn the lights on
off when you leave
walking through
here in place
unable to be still
walk until
stillness takes hold

First Light

Darkness begins to fade as
Black begins to bleed into blue
across the canvas of sky

What can we call morning
aside from the very thing it is?

Waking into the humid warmth
of a land older than civilization
Turning body upright in the hammock
Letting feet touch tiled floor
The birds are already speaking
just outside the doors
in the canopy of trees
The town bell is struck
to mark the passing of an hour
An old motorcycle
passes by outside
as it makes its way
towards the hunt

Waking and Life

living
sleeping 
waking
life wrought
in simplicity
how much 
goes on
in between
must things
be complicated
or as easy
as we wish
listen
do you hear
life beckon
will you 
call out
will you 
go forth

We carry on as normal
Even if the world inside us
Has changed. Morning
Routines continue even if
Grief has taken hold.
There must be food
And a shower. A return
To life and living.

slow morning wake up
consciousness filters back in
hazy memory

To Be

The act of living is such a hard load
For the living creatures of this world to bear.
It thus was life itself that sought to offer respite
Each day through the simple regenerative act
We have come to know as sleep. The ability
To let subconscious thought emerge fully 
Formed beneathe the closed eyes of a weary 
Body enables leaps of thought not possible
Through conscious means. Waking is a gradual
State marked by minor movements and 
Adjustments until mind and body have 
Reached a level of equilibrium in order
Endure the harsh reality of existence

Woke Up Dreaming

I woke up dreaming
but I loved you no less
Midnight memories
Tangle of limbs
Daylight reveals
what has passed
Impression of your body
My hand touches
where you were
Only coolness
Woke up dreaming

No Dreams

I do not dream so
I do not live
I die 
more and more
with little to 
no effort
I do not dream
I do not wake
or have I been
wide eyed
all along

before the sunrise

waking to the sound of cries

sleep now little one

Amphora

The dream always leaves before I have time to remember it.
My mornings are a blur of cloudy thoughts and physical needs
to be taken care of. Why must waking be so time consuming?
I wish I could wake and be ready in an instant. I can't be too
cheery so early in the day. I have to work up to happiness.
Forcing feelings that are not there has never helped anyone.
During summer months I leave the windows in my room
open while I sleep. The coolness of the late nights calms me
as I listen to the sound of the world breathing slow. Sleeping
and waking, waking and sleeping, so much of life happens
between the two, though, we would be lessened without
our need for sleep and subconscious fantasy. It is warm this
day and I know the moon is in repose but when she is fully
ascended I will once more leave myself to be an open amphora.

Simply Enough

I woke up and I was alive
and that alone
was enough.

Everything else in this day
exists in the shadow
of that event.

Day of the Week

I woke up today and forgot what day it is.

This realization was not met with panic,

it was greeted with a casual indifference

that could only be met by most of the living

creatures on Earth. I eventually found out 

that it is Tuesday. This changes very little

about how I feel about the day. It will be

modestly busy, I will go to work, I will 

go home, watch a movie, and fall asleep.

It is a predictable comfort that wraps itself

around my neck, warms me like a scarf,

and could choke the air from my lungs.

Lost Worlds

Waking is an act of forgetting
we take as normal.

What worlds do we relinquish
What lives do we forget

by gazing through the window
and embracing daylight

I often try in vain to remember
the landscapes I have seen

before they disappear into
the creeping mist   This morning

a few words snuck through
amidst the usual casualties

When I wake 
you're still a dream.

First & Last

When I wake the first
thing I do is look
for the right song
to play as my day begins.

I do this because
there is a tone that must
be set, though, this is not
always accomplished.

Some days deviate
wildly from the stated
thesis, others stay on mark
like an A+ paper.

As I get ready for sleep
I repeat the process
because of my belief
that music will effect

my dreams. I am not
certain that it has any
bearing on them but
I like to think it does.

Uncertainty

I don't dream every night.

Have you heard

the fable of the dog

who stared at his reflection

in the water? He held

a bone in his mouth

thought to get the bone

in the reflection.

How foolish he was

to lose it all

for a passing complexion.

What am I saying

to myself right now?

Am I dreaming

these words,

the sensation of my hands

moving in time

with the words

in my mind?