MY BLEAK HOURS

I have always been a creature of the nite. I think we are born predisposed to a specific body clock. Some of us are morning people who awaken all cheery and ready to take on the world, and equally ready to crawl into bed relatively early at nite. Then there are those, like me, who thrive on the hours of the nite and abhor the morning...relentlessly smacking at the snooze button on the alarm clock.

My hours do not fit neatly into what is considered the "norm" of day-to-day life. I am able to toy with my body clock and arise early in the morning when necessary. Obviously, I had no choice when I was in school. Plus, I have children. No mother sleeps in regardless of the time she went to bed.

The nite has always suited me. I love the sky then, and the quietness outside that is really not silent...just different. My mind seems to come alive and be abuzz with all sorts of thoughts and wonderings and ideas. I know it is my most creative time. Many of the ideas I have been most proud of came to me while the majority of people are sound asleep. Perhaps it is the lack of distractions that enables me to think more clearly and get in touch with my whirling brain. Even though my family is in the house with me, they are all sleeping. I am essentially alone. Maybe I am like a star that glows in a dark sky and goes unseen during the bright daylight hours.

For many months now, sleep and I have not been on very good terms. The Sandman must be hurling amphetamines at me instead of the sand he is supposed to be sprinkling. I am almost incapable of staying asleep for longer than three hours. It is a minor miracle if I have five or six consecutive hours of sleep. I cannot seem to find a way to undo this dreadful pattern, no matter how hard I try.

I have discovered there is a specific window of time that is almost haunting to me. Those hours are approximately 3:00 a.m. until around 5:00 a.m. It is then I no longer feel the embrace of the quiet dark, but instead the harshness of it.  What earlier I took comfort in, somehow turns into a hint of fright. My thoughts are not creative or productive then. They turn into whispers of sad memories, painful recollections, and bittersweet moments. And being alone turns into feeling lonely.

If I am going to cry, it is then. If the phone is going to ring to bring me shattering news, it is then. If I am going to experience self-doubt, those are the hours. And the stark realities of an imperfect world creep into the foreground of my mind.

I try to find something to do that will crowd out the feelings that have arisen. I might work on a painting...but it does not busy my mind enough, so I abandon it. I play music, but the songs I choose end up being ones that twist my heart. I read but seem to get stuck on a page...reading and rereading due to lack of focus. Television is never on my agenda except when sporting events are on (yes, I even love watching golf tournaments). However, overall, TV annoys me and makes me edgy. The last thing I need between the dreaded middle-of-the-nite hours is to feel edgier.

Those two hours are overwhelmingly bleak ones for me. I am grateful they last such a short time. Because when the stars fade and the restlessness is just about to consume me, it is not much longer before I peek out the window and am greeted by this:

     

And suddenly the frailty of my soul is replaced with strength and a renewed sense of self.

"The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures." ~Rabindranath Tagore