Thursday, October 3, 2013

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."

Sleep, gentle reader, has never come easily to me. You are lucky, in your unabashed love of sleep, with naps like long embraces. Sleep and I are wary of each other, although we do fine when we both finally accept our mutual fate.

I am tired. It has been a long run, of late.


e. e. cummings

You are tired 
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me then 
And we'll leave it far and far away-
(Only you and I understand!)



You have played 
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of 
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break and-
Just tired.
So am I.



But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight 
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart-
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows 
And if you like 
The perfect places of Sleep.



Ah come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble the moon 
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream 
Until I find the Only Flower 
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

I have been tired, you know. Drawn out, worn out, like an old thing. I am tired of things that break, of the puzzle of living and doing. But like our dear cummings, so recently discovered, or re-discovered, I'll keep knocking, Gentle Reader, at the gate of your heart, no matter how tired you are, no matter how tired I am.

These things, these things that cummings writes about, that he gets, are important, to me, to you. I'll keep knocking at that gate, no matter how tired I am, no matter how tired. There a sea out there somewhere, and a moon, a moon! And I intend to go there, somehow, someway, and with you.

Gentle Reader, will you come to the sea, with me?