A Dreamy Night
There is no magic in magic
It is a collection of trite details
It as an I of you and a share of care
It is a dash of hope and a prayerful grope
It is a command
to know
that you can
There is nothing unusual about my waking up all night. I always have slept like my beloved dogs. Hours here and there with frequent stretching and wandering sniffs of my surroundings. Been that way all my life except for the few years when I agonized over The Norm of 8 consecutive hours of sleep. It seems to be optimal rest for my peculiar metabolism.
Nor is there anything peculiar about my carrying a single dream through the night. My inexplicably vivid dream style is able to carry a single dream for weeks with less repetition than a daytime talk show. This morning I find myself wondering if last night's dream was the gelling of my vent on my crisis of faith in my psychotherapy.
This dream took place in a barn like the one I fantasize about in my real life garden. I was taking inventory of the cows, horses and goats. Weight, blood work, etcetera. The inventory was a comedy of errors. I ran out of labels. The labels I had would not stick since I was using paper labels on animal fur. The livestock scale I was using went completely haywire. The animals were rebelling. Exciting times in the Mow Critters barnyard.
This morning finds me surfing for sites where I can use words like faith and prayer without fending off established cliches of whatever stripe - skeptic or believer.
Small steps.
It is a collection of trite details
It as an I of you and a share of care
It is a dash of hope and a prayerful grope
It is a command
to know
that you can
There is nothing unusual about my waking up all night. I always have slept like my beloved dogs. Hours here and there with frequent stretching and wandering sniffs of my surroundings. Been that way all my life except for the few years when I agonized over The Norm of 8 consecutive hours of sleep. It seems to be optimal rest for my peculiar metabolism.
Nor is there anything peculiar about my carrying a single dream through the night. My inexplicably vivid dream style is able to carry a single dream for weeks with less repetition than a daytime talk show. This morning I find myself wondering if last night's dream was the gelling of my vent on my crisis of faith in my psychotherapy.
This dream took place in a barn like the one I fantasize about in my real life garden. I was taking inventory of the cows, horses and goats. Weight, blood work, etcetera. The inventory was a comedy of errors. I ran out of labels. The labels I had would not stick since I was using paper labels on animal fur. The livestock scale I was using went completely haywire. The animals were rebelling. Exciting times in the Mow Critters barnyard.
This morning finds me surfing for sites where I can use words like faith and prayer without fending off established cliches of whatever stripe - skeptic or believer.
Small steps.
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