SLEEPING WITH MY EYES OPEN

By popular demand!  
 

I slept with my eyes open.

It was recently brought to my attention that I will be turning 66 this December. I can't tell you how that feels.  It's the strangest thing.  I don't feel 66.  I don't know what 66 is supposed to feel like.  I stopped thinking about my age at 64.  It's as if someone hit the pause button on time.  But, in real time I am about to turn 66.

I've considered myself informed, well read, conscious and as living on purpose, not by coincidence. But, I have been in a coma.  Sleeping with my eyes open.

I saw, I heard, I assessed and I considered. I judged, forgave, condemned, pardoned and adjusted, moved and swayed like a branch in the breeze trying to accommodate the un-functionality of soul without realizing that my soul was something apart from my body.

I have been medicated to balance my bouncing mind.  It keeps me awake all night sometimes.  And when I do sleep, I dream I am dodging bullets from the dark side.

I have been afraid to close my eyes and rest. I did that one time for about four months.  If you have ever wet a sheet of watercolour paper and dropped blobs of colour onto it, you would know how slow and fast the paper changes.  It seeps and then runs.

It was dusk, the air was sweet with the smell of blooms. Night creatures and birds put on their party hats and readied themselves to create the night's voice.

I was drinking wine, telling stories.

I was blogging before blogging was blogging.

I lived on a farm with bees and snakes and birds and two dogs. My best friend lived next door, also on a farm, if next door is a way to describe the next property.

Lines from an old movie that has stayed with me forever come to mind just now.

"The Life that I have, is all that I have, 

and it's Yours.

The Love that I have

of the Life that I have, 

is Yours and Yours and Yours." 

I regret I cannot remember the the name of the movie or the author.

The life that I had..,

Yes. That life that I had just then, the one that was at rest, burst like a soap bubble, sounded like a mirror shattering, felt like shards of steel penetrating my very being.

The music, the soundtrack for the scene - me leaving the farm and all that belonged to me - was from the movie I couldn't watch, the harsh one.

I wasn't up for seasons. I did not have the understanding.

The tale is not sad.  The sad part is that I imagined I was conscious.

About two years ago, when I was 64, (obviously), I started awakening.  Time's stood still since then. How else can one miss aging two years?

Just about then I met a lady. I felt I needed to explain my presence.  I didn't know how.

" GO TO THE LORD," she said.

I did.

"SING!" She said.

That's harder.   I haven't really listened to music in general for ... I don't know;  fifteen years.

My voice is still stuck. It comes and goes.  I need to remove another splinter or splinters from my soul.

The songs are in me still.

The work continues.  "Time is few." as we say incorrectly on purpose.
I have to be fully awakened.
Make things right.  

It's 2.50 a.m   The first birds have begun to sing.
Music for my heart.

Love and Light.