Night Waves

Something goes crack in the night, and my soul lights up. I am sleeping, but my mind is full of ire, and color. I dream of love, and aches of my soul leaping off into the space of creativity, where things burn without ever smoldering. And I wonder--in truth--where does this light come from? Where has it hidden. And what has happened to open it up so?

This year, I seem to feel pain and suffering on a level of sensation that brings me to the feelings of the tiny hairs in my nose. Of how the air of sadness slides through my nostrils in little puffs and lodges itself part-way in my throat. The throat--the base of ecstacy, of pain, of joy breaking.

All of this floating around inside me regardless of bedtime, and little elfs that sing in the night. While I am meant to be dancing with my sugar-plum fairies and sleeping like faithful bunnies do, all tucked up in their cages--my mind is roaming and soaring. My feelings inside me pouring out like batter in the pan. And the insides are spilling out everywhere so nothing is contained.

It is all flowing. And I wonder how I can be quiet, how the symphony and cacophony of senses sliding around do not wake the whole city. The city, which breathes its silence as the air whistles through it. Inside I feel love, I rage, I live and feel my heart beating and my nostrils flaring and eyes water as feeling pours out because it can. It is so alive in here, even as I die every moment and die toward living. The night is so lonely, but it wraps me in its silence so I can storm and rage, like life can while I am.