My bed is a cocoon I gratefully sink into
When the moon is black
And vultures encircle me, waiting
To pick the flesh off my bones.
I hunker down, nestled between a heavy pile
Of blankets, haphazardly arranged
(Order and neatness have no place here),
Taking refuge until the tumultuous storm subsides.
I bring supplies – food, of course,
And books too.
Sleep, read, pray, think, eat, be –
All of these are welcome here,
Stillness guarding this sacred communion.
My favourite pillow – flattened within an inch of its life, just the way I like
Caresses my head, with its cool, soft palm.
I am not lonely.
My cat – perceiving my mood –
Has kneaded himself a space at my feet.
He understands the comfort that resting gives,
Indeed, he is my teacher, and I, his
My mind drifts into suspended animation
As my subconscious attempts to solve
The puzzle, the riddle – and furthermore
Plot the course that allows me to
Rejoin the world again.
I emerge sluggishly.
My spirit is now topped up
Overflowing with joyful nectar
The syrup of peace seeps out my pores
And others drink deeply of its goodness.
But – oh my
The world is loud, busy,
I wonder how I never noticed this before
This jarring cacophony of noise and light
Reverberating through the pavement.
I am slow to adjust.
At first it seems dissonant
To the serenity I have invoked
Through my slumber.
But as I continue
I notice that the colours and sounds intertwine.
In my wholeness
I am now part of the symphony they play
Not distant, not separate or aloof
But holding hands with life,
And dancing to the beat.
Michelle Bunt experienced a traumatic childhood, but now loves to write about the joys of everyday life and self-discovery. She is is an introvert who enjoys sleeping, and cuddles with her cat.
Feature image by tinyfroglet.