Now I Lay Me Down

As I prepare for sleep
I am reminded of the Great Sleep.

When sleep overtakes me,
It is a void, a blankness.

A form of my thoughts,
Are of the Great Sleep.

Then, dreams in black and white,
And drama in vivid colors visit.

Now I lay me down,
My head dents my goose down pillow.

The sheets and covers cold and chilly,
Warm to a nice snuggly place.

To sleep, to dream,
To rest, to re-energize.

Dear Lord, if  I should die,
Passing over to be with family

Before I wake,
And the sun rises on a new day.

I pray my Lord,
On bended knee with humble heart.

My soul to keep,
Drawing me close ever more.

Amen, Amen!
Yes, so be it now and forever.

Originally written:    March 21, 2011

As I drifted off to sleep I said my nightly prayers and slipped into
meditation, I was struck with the thought I was about to willingly
relinquish my conscious thought processes and enter a world of
oblivion.  There was no guarantee I would return to the bright new
dawning of another day.  Yet each night of my life, sometimes eagerly
and sometimes reluctantly I have given myself over to this nightly
ritual.

Each night I trust and have faith all will be well and I will greet the
sunrise. Each night a miracle of sorts occurs.  I enter the nether
world of blankness and dreams.  I awake refreshed, repaired, and
anxious for new experiences. I am profoundly aware a portion of my
existence is outside of my control or conscious intelligence.  It is in the
“hands” of another.

There was a moment just before oblivion when a vagrant thought
entered my mind. A wondering whether there is emptiness or bliss in
the afterlife.   The thought turns into a minute time slice of reluctance
ended by faith in ageless sagas spoken in front of fires by ancestors.
These tales and beliefs passed down in oral and written forms have
become sacred to the various religions and sects.   Now, they fight
amongst themselves about the differences they have created.   The 
differences are of consequence only to themselves.

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One response to “Now I Lay Me Down

  1. I love this poem and the dent in the pillow. Insomniacs have a hard time trusting enough to surrender.

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