' April 1st....Somehow, Much More Important Than,'April Fool's Day'...'

‘  April 1^st…Somehow, Much More Important Than ‘April Fool’s Day’…Although, Fools Abound ‘

04/01/12

Somehow, during another night lost to broken, pained, and intermittent sleep (not really sleep at all, but chilled and most uncomfortable little ‘naps’, and bathroom calls), the groaning, rusted wheel of the world ground on, cruel only in its indifference, and with the unwanted machinations of the earth and planets, slowly moved the calendar from March 31^st to April 1^st.

And it was to a ‘special’ new day that I did finally crawl unwillingly out of bed to the clanging of my C.N.A. out cleaning the kitchen, while my new clock began the annoyance of its hourly ‘bongs’, and fake electric chimes; funny that I thought I might just go back to sleep, though the lure of fresh, hot coffee, and the growing need to pee and have a cigarette drove me from an uncomfortable, and disarranged bed, to lumber, staggering out to the kitchen by way of the bathroom; Mary, my wonderful C.N.A seemed too chipper, and too bright for a morning hooded-over by passing clouds, and a kind of inevitable dreariness.  The dog and I stared at each other, while Mary hummed a song, while making the house a place most likely lived in by humans (in less than a week, I can usually turn the house into a man pit?), and with a blessed cup of coffee sat and looked about the house, then at myself, and with cigarette in hand, abdicated the day away, intending to try for a nap, later, or, whether it would be easier to die.

And then I remembered that today is April 1^st, though I’m too old and out of patience for stupid April Fool’s jokes, having—as my late mother would say, “ April Fool’s is done and past, and you’re the biggest fool at last !”

Now, whether I am—in fact—become the ‘biggest fool’ ( the matter having room for contention, as I have no doubt that there are—indeed—much bigger fools than I), I decided, for today, to let the matter rest, at least until my smashing headache goes away.

But, somewhere perhaps in the back of my mind’s memory, the arrival of the 1^st seemed to herald much more profound notions.  For April just recently arrived, incontestably means that Spring is here; having said goodbye to March, with all its blustering.

Oh, well I know, my dearest friends, that April means taxes, and the inevitable biting of nails, and fear of audit, or of greater fear of an insufficient refund…better that, than have to pay an unmoving, and baleful I.R.S., and of facing the age-old question: do I itemize or not?  When last I was employed, believe me, the ‘EZ form’ caused sufficient ‘brain-pain’.

But as I sipped my coffee, smoking while I watched my house become a home again, and taking extra pain medications, prepared my pill box for the week, the ‘difference’ of the day became more clear.

As I sat there in week-old pajamas, as I simply did not care, and had no one to impress anyway, gradually, that ‘clean house’ smell began to prevail; and since I tend to opt for more floral scents in the diffusers, my thoughts began to drift far and wide, across the press of years, of time, and circumstance down into the Present…whoomph, but it was to a tolerable landing that I arrived; the house had not changed in form, neither had I changed, really, as if in my wanderings, I could somehow erase-away the years, the pounds ( ! ), and the pain.

Like a damaged hummingbird, still my thoughts went from bloom to bloom, and I thought of happy times with my late mother and father; the anticipation and productions made for Easter.  Strange I paused to briefly think of my mom’s petunia beds, with its wild array of fragile, crepey color; each flower seemed to have a little, smiling face, as they bowed in dance to a suitor of the errant breeze.

How somehow breathtaking was a late-afternoon, April’s storm, when rays of light passed through the turmoiled atmosphere, giving a strange, unnatural orange tint to everything; how odd the grass looked in response, how odd the sky.  And when the thunder came, as darkened clouds could still be seen far away, it was—for a solitary, eight-year old boy, a time of pure wonder, and to race home to hide, when—at last—the sky upended all its rain, while thunder shook the house.

For as long as I could remember, my mother was afraid of lightening, and thunder; sitting with arms folded, and eyes tightly shut, she waited for that clap of thunder, and startled when it sounded.  Sometimes, she would retire to her bed, or stand silent in the hall, the middle of the house.  This phobia was not helped when-once, some twenty feet away, while we are in the dining room discussing lunch, a bolt of purest lightning struck the chimney of the fireplace in our family room, and blew exploded bricks wide-through the backyard, while filing up the room with blue, electrical smoke.  I thought it was neat, while my poor mother—had she been able—would have jumped through her skin.

Of course—today—I hurt; of course my breath is ragged as I’m tired; of course I can’t decide whether I am the least bit hungry, or just too nauseated to contemplate food or any kind.

However…little memories persist, like little, dotted ‘i’s.  For brief moments they pass through my consciousness, much like the little wisps of clouds passing overhead.

And then, I ‘think’ I know why today is so important; it is because I am alive, having lasted yet another ruined night.  I am here….now.  I exist, and with my senses tuned to other things, I can—while waiting for the pain medications to work their will—cast my mind to almost anywhere I choose.  My dog is sleeping on the rug beside me.  And I can say—at 58—that I have so far lived as good a life as any.  Sometimes, that realization is all we have. But in a quiet house, on days like this, that realization is sufficient, and, fine.

I think of you, my dearest friends, and hope that if you cannot be well, then—at least—you are feeling better.  The month is new, and not as yet used up by want, or despairing.  So far there is money, even if just a little.  And think, for a moment, of all who genuinely love and care for you; think of how much you have to offer in a coin of kindness, and caring; I would ask you—please—to pause between whatever thoughts, or events distress you, to remember just how very special, and beautiful you are.  And utterly unique.

You have a mind, a heart, a soul that can NEVER be catalogued by your illnesses; what makes the day special is that YOU are in it

And although you may have pain that makes you cry, you cry for others quite unknown to you, who suffer to. And a prayer said for one, is one said for all.  Your deep compassion, concern, and support—despite your pain—makes you so special, too.  A lot of ‘how’ you think, affects how you are.

Even if the respites from your pain last only pulse beats, yet, you can;

1)           Still tell a spouse how much you love them; why you care, and why you’re most thankful.

2)           Still hold a child long enough to cuddle them; brush away a tear, or lovingly, a stubborn lock of hair.

3)           Still telephone a friend in gratitude.

4)           Let a devoted pet know how very much you care.

5)           Should you EVER see it, telephone to report abuse.

6)           Take a quiet second to remember your always caring friends at MDJunction.

7)            Be thankful that you are an American, with Rights and freedoms unheard of in half the world.

8)           Give thanks to whatever Deity in which you believe for all your many blessings.

And never forget to take what chance you have to celebrate the wonder that is YOU.

I KNEW today was special; it just took some little time to figure out why.

Oh, my very dear, and dearest friends, and ever constant, loyal readers, please know that I think of you often, wishing for you days of lessened or of ‘no pain’; balmy, Springtime days that delight; pantries full, with no want or need, surrounded by those who truly love you for yourself; soothing evenings of friends and family; blissful nights free of distress or wracking dreams, sleep that is innocent and refreshing.  And, all the joy and happiness that your kind hearts can hold.  And more.

Please know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc/Charles'

' Don't You Think Its Time For A Needed Revolution ? '

‘ Don’t You Think Its Time For A Needed Revolution ?  ‘

03/30/12

To my very dear, and dearest friends, and wonderfully constant, loyal readers, even when I am as made diminished by waves of heated agony, and a listlessness of spirit, which is ever a devouring pain that makes me tired, filled with broken an nightmare ‘sleep’, I find that in my dire and despair, yet, my thoughts so often turn to you; to thank you for your kindness and support…and your forgiveness.

Somehow, within those briefest spans of time, measured by a scale marked by uncertain breathes, or draw of welcome cigarette, or of glimpsing a shadowed, and ever-changing mirror of myself, as I sip gratefully into a cup of coffee, and—for a moment—feel a warmth of comfort from the rising steam; amid a too-quiet house, my scattered and wispy thoughts turn most naturally to you, dearest friends. 

In the quiet of my heart, I wonder if you are well, or, feeling better; I wonder if—while I’m awake—you are sleeping softly, your dreams as sweet; your ‘troubled’ day having reached its end.

And as I light—perhaps, another cigarette—hope that all is well, and that you and all who live with you are safe, and free from harm’s reach, having earlier had a most delicious supper so that the evening made you sleepy, with all thoughts of cares and worries far behind you.

I wish for all a safety; I wish you never know want, or to despair for lacking of having funds; I wish you and yours health, happiness, and prosperity, and for the FULL exercise of all the Rights and Privileges established for us by our Founding Fathers.  For NONE of us asked to be in monstrous pain, too ill to rise.  Nevertheless, we have contributed, and STILL contribute to the system; for everyone on S.S.I., or, S.S.D.I, these are fully earned benefits.  That’s why they are called, ‘Entitlements’, because we are fully entitled to them.

I have allowed my coffee to get cold, and so make my uncertain way to the sink to pour it out, and make another.  For I never know when that accumulated doses of medicine, will rise to meet my pain…and for too short a while, I do hurt less, but am exhausted and all –over sweat from having fought it ( though the pains will always win).

And should my mind be clear, I think about so many things.

I pause to think of yet the most recent April’s budget, and how the previous six have ended in the garbage can as unworkable.  Although I get my S.S.D.I. check on the 3^rd., I have exactly fourteen cents in savings, and maybe, $53.00 left in checking…and that’s with spending nothing at the grocery store, nor intending to; of asking all to whom I’ve written recent checks to please kindly hold them for me, until after ‘payday’, as the cashing of a single one would put my account into overdraft.

And, as you so well know, it would be the beginning of the accumulation(s) of $35.00 charges by my bank, when, with what I will have, still, the bills are never paid in full.  Once—with another bank—I was overdrawn by $5.26.  By the time other checks had come in for payment, I owed that bank $178.00 in charges and overdraft fees…for being over by $5.26 !

I quickly changed banks…but, in truth, they are all about alike.

Before I leave you for today, my dearest friends, perhaps I will close with an illustrative story; and promise to not run overlong, I hope!

The subject of these next diary entries, that of a much needed revolution on our parts concerns the now, 0.5 %, who control our money supplies; our economy; our foreign policy; and the way the ordinary citizens are being openly treated as doormats; nameless, and privilege less; utterly scorned by bankers, money changers, investment houses, and the like.

They OPENLY despise us as cattle, instead of Americans.  When a banker in Palm Beach sends to a crowd of Wall Street Protesters, a note on a pillow, carried by his chauffeur, to air his thoughts, sarcastically at the crowd, then, clearly, something more lasting, and efficient, must be done.  The banker was—of course correct; as ordinary citizens, we have allowed ourselves to be herded like the cattle we are considered to be.

All the peaceful, non-threatening protests, will, regrettably not change a thing.

And, while I am not usually a proponent of violence of any kind, we will continue to be controlled by those who have no fear of us…only disgust.

Why, because:

1)           We are—to a large degree—ununited by our own complacency.  Let’s face it, life is hard, and getting harder.  Those who can work are deathly afraid of rocking the boat lest they lose their positions.

2)           We have—as we can afford it—become too easily sated by bright, sparkly things, which we willingly allow to divert our attention from serious issues.

3)           We understandably are overwhelmed by too many things that distract us: the noise; the cars; the crowds; the plasma television set, with its nine hundred channels, or ‘smart’ phones, on which we can play silly games (how few people ONLY use their cell phones to make and receive calls?

4)           And, at the end of day, how tired are we to do anything but flop in from of the screen, eating our hastily-prepared suppers, until time to go to bed.

5)           With few exceptions ( of recent, notable for their acid regard), the ones who truly control the Country ( and Countries abroad) are faceless, hiding in the brick-and-mortal comfort of a life none of us will know; but like rats, there’s a safety in hiding and anonymity.

Although I no longer watch television, I do get my news from online sources (not, ‘angry birds’).

And while it hurts my heart to distress you, especially when life is hard enough, it would seem a necessary part of the human condition that fear gives way to worry; but, that is what motivates anger. And anger and desire leads to demand for change.  Sometimes, even demand for change is not enough; sometimes changes simply MUST be made.  Without bartering.  Without equivocation. Without endless delay.  But with efficacy, and planning, and upholding the Rights of the average citizen, while contributing to the common weal.

Above all, please do not continue to hide in your homes (you who still have them!), why waiting for the sky to fall.  You already have a largely unused power as an electorate; we’ve seen the almost endless parade of criminals and wrongdoers in office; vote them out!  Then, prosecute them.  They are not Gods, nor are they above the law.

And that is just a start.

Begin to go after the real power-holders, first by boycotting their commerce.  Could Wal-Mart, with its foreign buying practices, and notably egregious treatment of its employees last even a few weeks without customers?  Please at least think about it, perhaps even as you pause to complain about the current state of life in America.

Before I close, in posting this entry for today, my dearest friends and gentle readers, please allow me to leave you with some thoughts to consider:

1)           For some time—now—in our Country, probably full in force by the mid-1980’s, there is no longer a ‘Middleclass’; certainly, within the last twenty years—or more—the ‘Middleclass’ was swept out of existence.  There remains a ‘Super Upper-class’, that for some time, no longer hides its wealth, influence, or power. 

2)           The rest of us occupy the ‘Lower-class’, struggling to survive; those of us who work for minimum wage; those of us who must eke out an existence on insufficient Social Security Entitlements; and that nameless, growing population of the poor and homeless, sometimes turning to drugs;  sometimes, crime; this element is by its growing numbers becoming unavoidable.

3)           Were the police, and military on our side…think about it…does THAT in any way remind you of 1917, and the Russian Revolution?

Change occurs whenever the Present Order of things becomes intolerable.  And happens whether you or I want it to; all it takes is just the one match to light the powder keg.  Personally, I would have to say that things are pretty lousy-enough as they are.

Meanwhile, dearest friends, please know I wish for you better and better days; days of lessened, or of ‘no’ pain; quiet days, safe and secure; with pantries full enough to share; evenings surrounded by the ones who love you and genuinely care for you; and nights of blissful rest, free from pain, depression, or nightmare, as always kept safe and guarded by watchful angels.

I love you always,

‘Zahc’

' Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying 'Dood Dream', Seem Now More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans'

‘ 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— at 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 remained, still-conscious thought prevents 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’

‘ 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— at 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 remained, still-conscious thought prevents 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’

‘ 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— at 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 remained, still-conscious thought prevents 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’

‘ 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— at 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 remained, still-conscious thought prevents 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’

‘ 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— at 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 remained, still-conscious thought prevents 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’