Nearly two in the morning, my beat is alive. Can’t sleep, won’t sleep, at least not until the dawn has woken up the day with a pinky peach kiss. This often happens to me around the days of midsummer. I would most probably fare well in those northern midnight sun places, where the blink of an eye is a full nights sleep, (or days), depending on the angle of the earth in realation to the sun.
I’ve heard it said many times that the physical body does not need sleep. It is the soul that sleeps and rejuvinates the body and the mind. I do not know if this is true, but this feeds my creative imagination. When I go to sleep I visit the fountain of wisdom. I drink of its waters and bathe in its waterfall. I receive knowledge and am replenished for the new day.
I like to stay awake on these short summer nights. I wait for a conscious experience of rejuvination. I have an aunt, who when she was my age used to stay awake pacing her house, doing odd jobs. I never understood then because I always had the comfort of a child’s sleep, inevitable and deep and innocent.
Stillness is inviting. No rush and squabble of the day. These small moments in the tender hours remind me how to live. My daydreaming heart needs the night to play. I remember the movement it will take. I remember the direction. I remember the velocity. I remember how what I will determines much. I need the night to teach me what during the day I forget.
The peachy kiss of daybreak dares me to remember the wisdom of the fountain. I scarce closed my eyes! That’s all the time ever and no time at all. That’s the midnight sun on a midsummers eve. That’s the innocence of insomnia. That’s all the soul needs, a blink of sleep in the eternity of the insomniac’s eye.