I can't get no sleep

Creepy insomnia walks all over me, adding fuel to my nightmares. When I pause, and dip down into sleep I face demons that crawl like spiders over the body of my soul. They want something from me, but I am too frightened to look into the stolen suns in their eyes. I have my moments of courage, watching for the full moon, waiting for them. Hiding behind the silhouettes of trees, observing the proper reception of those with influence. I sit with them and sip tea while they tell me of their plans and they burn like wildfire against the God who holds me, even there, looking into the eyes that cradle evil and dark spaces to grow. They all offer pathways to hell. But I would rather climb that silhouette tree and leave him in a moment of forgetfulness. Morphing into a creature that is small and silent.

As I fly with wings of escape I become a shadow against the Moon. He would like to clip my wings. A morsel on the ground, easier to report back. The fallen angel demands too much. The fires of hell are begrudgingly stoked. The fallen angel, blind to redemption or any beauty that does not shrivel at his command. Angels wait behind spaces. They wield swords of liberation and love, they take joy in their healing touch and fall in sadness at the forbidden whispers of Satan's voice. Those whispers crawl up your spine and pull at your dreams and your soul. They march through your brain like an army and hiss at your heart. They demonise angels that won't fall. You forget how to trust, how to love, and let your soul be nurtured. Until, you move away, forget, allow yourself to be lifted up. Away from the magnetism of the dark and into the light. It's just like opening your eyes to a summer morning. Or melting away into a velvet night. You choose.

Did I choose this game of chequers boards and snakes twisted round trees? This dance of sleep on ladders of the night, clouds that float alongside falling stars and dizzy twisted flowers walking on the ground, next to me as I fight to hold onto sleep, my lids noiselessly fluttering, the spheres of my eyes, holding rain. Everything together and apart, mended and broken. Nothing makes sense.

People crowd into the corners of my room. The undesirables that crave my blood, a memory, some help. They fall into sleep, drift and disappear. Somehow, there is a different dream, a demon gone, thanks to the great protection of life. Its inherent goodness argues with my insomnia, and the morsel on the ground flies away with silent invisible wings. Its a journey, someone whispers. Its a trip. You can always find Spirit again somewhere. This is a walk in an inescapable land but it will dizzy and disappear into the realm of lived experience.

The clock ticks like its bending reality. Time means nothing, suffering is more apparent. Not the suffering of emptiness but a tide of numbness washing over me with a slashed, warped reality standing at the gates of my sleep.

Like electric stealing through my temples and my fingertips. Overwhelmed by the psychic reality of life, similar to all mental illnesses wrapped in one giant tangle. Schizophrenia looms but is batted away, not my journey, but similar tortures. I wish to walk the land of dreams and wake to the sun illuminating my room. Yet I know intimately, the night, and the shadows of the sun.

I stare at my alarm clock and dawn is approaching in real time. The darkest hour. A heavy lightbulb swings in the wind, birds start to stir. Life is finishing with sleep, and ready to greet the day, the long light. Rest is elusive. Other people, in a cheery dream I cannot reach, polite and clinical. Work is a path for busy bees, not those who live in the shadows of their imagination, wrestling with their sheets like an enemy. Dragging their bones to breakfast.

As light hits my eyes, I crave the dark. Exhaustion is real. Its agony, after years of no sleep, I worship it like an entity I'm too tired to cross. I turn on the transcendental meditation music and am transported to the space in between all this, where rest is. The vibrations of neutrality running through me, the pain disappearing. The spirituality welcome. Panpipes tremble like angels in the wings, ready for a great display of healing and imparting a magnificent force. like gold in their fingertips, just ready to touch the world, help it, bathe it in light.

Away from the fear, the madness, the sorry state of the World. The vexed face of Nature becomes peaceful, just a breath in the wind. The true authorities make up their minds and the World is held in love. Easier to trust in the warmth of light as Earth is illuminated in day. My therapy session waits for me, my guide wise. The souls of others meet me in their eyes. For a while I forget I am tired as it I am replenished, drinking in Prana with my morning coffee. Its time to abandon insomnia and live a day.

The day is washed with things I must do, with a lingering summer. The mundane steals my attention and the light pours into my kitchen. The dark nights are at bay and warmth is buoyant in the air. Planes hum and work drones. Imagination and skill work quietly. I am here to walk the path of healing amongst the jagged rocks of insomnia. I pick up my guitar and treat it like a lover. I shower in cool water, bathing in scents of lemongrass and roses. I layer perfumes and creams onto my body so it knows it's the home of a Goddess, though she must walk through Hades every night, her thoughts crashing like waves, putting out the fires. Her days of the empty kind, filled with illness and distraction. As her eyes flicker through the days, she wishes she could do more. Be more, but she contains aeons and watches Universes pass by.