Sleep is up on my list of Favorite Things To Do in the History of Ever but also eludes me like a bitchass shrew. Particularly, since my mind is inclined to spin itself up into a feverish frenzy of illicit madness, sleep is both rejuvenating and elusive.
This weekend was wild and mad and perhaps the best of my life. Since moving to LA last summer I've had more than a few "best weekends ever" a feat of which I feel blessed and also self satisfied since I work tirelessly at living and being awesome.
I didn't sleep for days but instead stayed up with my best friend - also a writer - rolling face in an attempt to really feel. Sure we danced but mostly we talked. We vibed and understood and at times we were One. We were shamelessly alive.
I couldn't sleep last night, as with many nights, but this night was particularly brutal following the mentally and physically exhausting adventure of an emotionally charged weekend. I ache with a broken heart over a man far away. I lie with a man who is kind and generous and doesn't understand the half of it. I'm always careful not to confuse discontent with unhappiness and last night, as with most nights, the weight of possibility bore down on me in the darkness.
So I drove. Phone, keys, notepad and pen and I was out the door, headed north or east not caring which way, simply on fire to go. 4:30am I drove along unfamiliar highway away from the lights of LA, away from my lover, from my discontent. All lights vanished and it was me alone; only my thoughts and my wonder and my regret in pursuit. As the first light of morning began to break through the black I came to a lake, lonely and untouched.
This weekend was wild and mad and perhaps the best of my life. Since moving to LA last summer I've had more than a few "best weekends ever" a feat of which I feel blessed and also self satisfied since I work tirelessly at living and being awesome.
I didn't sleep for days but instead stayed up with my best friend - also a writer - rolling face in an attempt to really feel. Sure we danced but mostly we talked. We vibed and understood and at times we were One. We were shamelessly alive.
I couldn't sleep last night, as with many nights, but this night was particularly brutal following the mentally and physically exhausting adventure of an emotionally charged weekend. I ache with a broken heart over a man far away. I lie with a man who is kind and generous and doesn't understand the half of it. I'm always careful not to confuse discontent with unhappiness and last night, as with most nights, the weight of possibility bore down on me in the darkness.
So I drove. Phone, keys, notepad and pen and I was out the door, headed north or east not caring which way, simply on fire to go. 4:30am I drove along unfamiliar highway away from the lights of LA, away from my lover, from my discontent. All lights vanished and it was me alone; only my thoughts and my wonder and my regret in pursuit. As the first light of morning began to break through the black I came to a lake, lonely and untouched.
I reflected in the quiet. This is the only thing I wrote in its completeness:
With the sound of the highway behind me, wakening sun at my back, I face a fading moon. Headached and foggy eyed I bid farewell to the darkness, welcoming the chances born of a new day.
As the light bores upon me I can't help but worry of the man I left behind.
He is Irrelevant.
I listen softly to the tiny birds waking from their slumber, their knowledge of I nonexistent and beautiful-- I, myself, irrelevant to them. Irrelevant to all of Nature.
Only the Sun and the Moon as company, the only connection to the Earth on which I sit, an alien in my own right.
I want to go Home.
I yearn for them, this unseen mother and father as if I were the birds, chirping loudly for which I crave.
I am mad at Man. Mad at the path I was placed on with not but a marker to lead.
Where am I?
Where am I going?
You gave me the will and intuition to GO, Lord, yet not even with the wings of a bird could I find my way home, could I find you.
I shiver in the morning light as the world turns and our sun kisses away the moon. A reminder that I am only man, my flesh not fit for this world on it's own. Instead I am Yours.
Like the flora around me I have no choice but to grow toward the light. Unlike them I can choose to water myself, to uproot and resettle in greener pastures.
I am but a seed and you are but the Sun. I suppose I should be grateful, as a bird in reverie of her morning song.
Make of it what you will. I guess I needed a moment with my Creator-- whatever, whoever, or perhaps nonexistent.
I came out of this weekend on fire and full of purpose, a purpose I can only thumb with the edge of my mind and struggle myself to define. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to put words to that purpose and perhaps in the end go mad. I suppose, ultimately, refusing to have it any other way.
With the sound of the highway behind me, wakening sun at my back, I face a fading moon. Headached and foggy eyed I bid farewell to the darkness, welcoming the chances born of a new day.
As the light bores upon me I can't help but worry of the man I left behind.
He is Irrelevant.
I listen softly to the tiny birds waking from their slumber, their knowledge of I nonexistent and beautiful-- I, myself, irrelevant to them. Irrelevant to all of Nature.
Only the Sun and the Moon as company, the only connection to the Earth on which I sit, an alien in my own right.
I want to go Home.
I yearn for them, this unseen mother and father as if I were the birds, chirping loudly for which I crave.
I am mad at Man. Mad at the path I was placed on with not but a marker to lead.
Where am I?
Where am I going?
You gave me the will and intuition to GO, Lord, yet not even with the wings of a bird could I find my way home, could I find you.
I shiver in the morning light as the world turns and our sun kisses away the moon. A reminder that I am only man, my flesh not fit for this world on it's own. Instead I am Yours.
Like the flora around me I have no choice but to grow toward the light. Unlike them I can choose to water myself, to uproot and resettle in greener pastures.
I am but a seed and you are but the Sun. I suppose I should be grateful, as a bird in reverie of her morning song.
Make of it what you will. I guess I needed a moment with my Creator-- whatever, whoever, or perhaps nonexistent.
I came out of this weekend on fire and full of purpose, a purpose I can only thumb with the edge of my mind and struggle myself to define. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to put words to that purpose and perhaps in the end go mad. I suppose, ultimately, refusing to have it any other way.
RSS Feed