waking up with music playing in my head every day: it now feels like a naked day without, a void that i blearily try to make sense of in the first few minutes - what's missing? that's waking up according to earth's rotation, according to night and day.
there is a tiny bud inside. i feel it sprouting, too tentative and fragile to call its existence. almost like the rose in the little prince. it will take care to grow thorn by thorn, petal by petal, before unfurling into bloom. know not when that will happen. feel a fierce protectiveness towards this bud, and i'm glad for it. i'm always reaching back for some sense of understanding of what happened. realising i'm always realising a step later. slow down. make sense of it now. but there are many years to catch up on.
perhaps that's why sleep is resistant. time is relative. it's not hours, not minutes, not seconds. the clock of the mind runs on a linearity that does not pay respect to rest. it rested too long before. now as i lay in bed, body exhausted, twitching in the warning spasms of sleep, my mind runs, and runs, and runs, and i wake up from running dreams that i fell into suddenly, like a hmmimnotfallingasleep-boom-xreams-musicsoundtrackasthealarmrings.
well the spirit fell hard twice, it's time to put the bell jar onto the bud and let it slowly grow in its time. free from the seduction of the wind, where the petals can dance on undrawn lines in the air. free from the seduction of the rain, a torrent blanket that blurs all silhouettes of existence. free from the specks and grit and grime that the wind and rain don't talk about but slap you in the face with.
there is a nuttiness in todays coffee that lingers. this is the correct proportion to water.