1.31.2013

What sleep reveals

It's a hardship, maybe, or unnecessary value, this nocturnal predilection, granting hours to observe an intimacy reserved for labs and lunar gazes--while adding weighted increments to already burdened shoulders perhaps ticking back from future nights any perceived gains. But here I lay beside/beneath you in your somnambulant gymnastics with an opportunity for observation. So I take it lying down.

That night you landed in your new home and on a pillow next to mine--it was an awesome/distressing eve, a milestone/scary moment--I watched your eyelids fall and your mouth relax, your body limp and your chest rise and fall. But as much as it was for you relief it was equally anxious. Here in this foreign LAnd with a foreigner's grip around your waist and heart, a fleeting feeling of security and peace swept away conscious pleasures and replaced them instead with unconscious, or suppressed, fears. I saw it in a clenching jaw and heard it gnashing teeth, the physical responding to the psychological pressures. I remember waking you up the first time your eyes flinched and you groaned unpleasantries into an impartial night. I couldn't allow it, yet it was abundantly clear that the remedy for such ailments wasn't an immediate cure but a sustained course of actions.

And what diligence you've shown, taking it daily like a spoonful of cinnamon but unwavering in your answering the challenge. When you embark on a journey at the speed of life, the steps seem impossibly small and the destination a paradox distance down Zeno Way. Yet the focus then unfocus then refocus and misfocus distracts from the trip. And eventually you turn around, notice where you're going is miles past, shrug as if it took only seconds, march toward the next impossibly distant marker.

And one year from the first slumber I've witnessed hundreds. A progression of restfulness that evaded me nightly but in retrospect comes into focus. Last night you slept with the relaxed demeanor of an exhausted toddler--mouth slightly open and arms sprawled without reserve beyond the 54th parallel of "your side." It was an invasion of comfort--a blitzkrieg of ease. You tossed only when disturbed and turned when it benefited your occupation. I'm not saying there aren't nights of distress, when your memories catch up with your peace and it results in temporary/inconsequential relapse. But those moments are fleeting and rare and these new moments more generous and often. And where will you be a year from now with comfort coming this quickly?

And where will I be? In my own bed, perhaps, 50s-sitcom-style wearing button-up pajamas and a night cap, but still watching over you--your personal moon man but with smoother face and brighter eyes--making sure of your progress and night-day dreaming about dreaming some night.