Sunday, March 25, 2012

Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying 'Good Dream, Seem Now More Rare...;


‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’



03/25/12



Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends—ont ,the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remains, still-conscious thought that does prevent my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because-- of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day-- that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

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