It is 3:23 am on Thanksgiving morning and I am blessed with the luxury of having a four day weekend. Waking at two in the morning is usually a tragedy; I lie in bed in the dark and think with dread of the alarm ringing in only four more hours -- three more hours -- two more hours -- oh, it can't be six already... But with the unfettered days before me, waking from night-terrors at two am provides more than escape from the shades that pursue me in Dream. It becomes a time for reflection, for music, for sitting in bed and writing, writing, for God's sake; I feel uplifted, my soul is riding the currents of the wind that shrieks outside the window and for this exhilerating night, I am free. There is no one to answer to, no one here but me, and there are no expectations to meet -- not even my own.
I write, and tears threaten. I am not grieving over any given circumstance, the tears are for joy. It has been so long since I had the urge to express deep, inner thoughts with written words that I had almost forgotten how it feels to have this release. Pent-up pressures fade, my thoughts cease their rumbling and flow like rain. The wounds of the past lose their sting. Tomorrow may be different, but tonight, I am made new; born again in all innocence, unscarred.
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