Ramblings Of An Earnest Mind

                                                      Dreams and Vines

By Heather Lake

 

 

Little light falls on my dreams.

   Dark and beautiful they grow vines-

through my synapses jumping one to the other-

  tiny trapeze artists moving

across the chasms of thought.

 

I pour myself a coffee-

  my fifth one today.

I try to read but my eyes hurt

  and I lower the book-

putting it with a pile of books

   I want to read.

But I am distracted by life-

 lulled by boredom and my bed-

  and seem to never get to them.

 

I put on some music.

  Opening my laptop-

hoping to create something that will be

  as darkly beautiful as those dreams are.

The words have trouble coming today and

  I feel frustrated at the blank page.

All I want to do is get all this out and put it here-

  on the blankness

and off the balancing wire

in my troubled mind.

 

Another day I have not eaten enough-

  nor drank enough water.

I have had too much caffeine

  and not enough sleep.

No wonder why I feel shaky-

  tired and worn like an old shoe.

 

I haven’t left the house in three days.

  I am climbing like a monkey up these walls and

in my head-bells of panic are tolling.

 I have to get out so I do what I love.

  Getting on my bike I set some good music on my speaker-

roar through paths in the park as fast as I can-

  laying out those frustrations under my tires.

Here on my bike I feel free, my anger shearing

  off my skin from the speed and I am suddenly

untroubled by anything.

All my world right now is bike and music-

  and smooth dark bike paths.

The sun on my shoulders and arms

  feels like a silky kiss.

 

I go home renewed and the walls seem wider-

  the air cleaner, the silence welcome.

I feel the sigh of happiness come up from my toes-

  across my stomach and settling in the deep red

highways of my heart.

 

I do what I can to cope-

  and forgive myself when I fall into sadness.

This is hard. What I do to manage is okay.

  Just remember to sleep. To eat. To get enough water-

even on days I don’t want to do any of it.

  

I believe in coming out the other side again.

  Emily Dickinson said

 “Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul-

And sings the tune without the words-

 And never stops-at all.”

 

Or, my favorite,

                   “Faith is the little bird that sings when the dawn is still dark”

 

                Sing. The dawn is still dark but the sun is coming.