Foreign Ritual

Sleeping well is a foreign ritual to me as all this change has busied my mind. I am exulted. I am crushed. I am elated. I am crying... not for joy. Change is often difficult and passionate. This period in my life is not relaxed, not stable and has reminded me once again how terribly far out of my reach the great things are. I'm starting all over again and I feel heart-breakingly alone in my plight for success and unconditional love. Am I asking for too much? 29 - This number keeps drilling holes in my head. Light tries desperately to flicker out and beyond the tip of my nose and into other lives and spaces.

The breeze of my fan unlocked something deep inside me as I tried to sleep last night...

I soared above the ocean with the flesh of my arms flapping in the wind. My body galloped through the clouds and my eyes burned with dryness. I looked down at the shimmering waves and land-lovers treetops and straight ahead and into the blue. The air was fierce and salty. It wore down and shined my skin with invisible polish. Instead of thinking or believing, my existence was propelled without reason as my fingertips exploded with a refined sensation. This sensation broke my body down into simple molecules that co-mingled with the sky as I rose higher and higher and then the darkness of outer-space drew noise and reference out of my head. In bouyant darkness I found silence.