Awake

I am awake. I am filled with a practical sense of contentment and accomplishment. The hurts my body complains of are results of my growing leaner, stronger. The wetness between my thighs remind me that I was thoroughly ravaged by Beloved merely hours ago. The silver in my hair reveals my true nature, both mature and magical. The callouses on my hands tell of the time spent in the garden and the bruises on my arms speak of success in moving a truckload of "stuff" out of the house. The small wrinkles about my eyes and mouth speak to a happy life.

And yet, I am awake. My mind ripples with thoughts. Who will be where when, and what needs to happen to ensure that? Commitments for tomorrow, responsibilities for this week, plans for the month. All of what I can and do accomplish is broken down into pieces and steps and reassembled into possibilities. Mine is the gift to make lesser miracles happen regularly and predictably, and I am wonderful at what I do. Knowing that I can I provide and bring happiness, it is a pleasure to be of service.

And still, at 3am, I am awake. There's a craving to relinquish all my worries, to surrender my struggles, to be completely owned and loved and protected. I yearn for a sense of purpose and direction instead of the nebulous "freedom" I have staying home. As the leaves fall, I find myself already expanding my garden in the spring. I wish to feel clay beneath my hands, slipping and shaping like a magic art to create bowls and cups to adorn the table. There's a longing for soft caresses, firm hands, warm firelight. There's a desire for the slightly giddy feeling of being uninhibited. I want to spread my wings, feel the wind in my hair, taste the starlight on my tongue.

Thus, I am awake. I cannot sleep when my daydreams are so vivid.