We need to sleep in the hollow of a tree or find a warm place in the sun and lie on the beach. When we’re sleeping we travel in the fluid realm of images. Is this our living gone underground like trees reaching deep? We can’t so easily reach with our roots.
They aren’t always there in the pictures of grandma and grandfather. Our families stories aren’t the only ones that speak to us in our time of need. Maybe they don’t even speak to us at all. We may have to go deeper still. We may have to burrow into a good book, a hero’s journey or get lost in the stream of consciousness.
All of these things are ways to incubate what it is to become your self in the world again. We need sleep. Not the numbness that I longed for. We need to incubate our lives in the cauldron of our own heat.
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