The View From Up Here

Every night my soul dies.

I know this to be true because with the last cognizant sigh I can hear a sort of goodbye lullaby being sung quietly over me as I drift off to a place I know little of.

Upon waking a rebirth of sorts happens. Some days I am reborn with the strength of a man who knows his place in the world, knows what he must do and how he believes it must be done. Some days I feel the rebirth to be premature, with the desire to stay within the incubator that is my room far outweighing all other demands.

And then there are days when I am reborn into a world that is as beautiful and wonder filled as a newborns first breath. I wake kicking and screaming, waiting for the cord to be cut between what has passed and what is soon to pass.

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Light comes in varying hues. Pulsing in reds, greens and blues I see the world not as a linear plane where one minute comes after the other but rather where one momentous moment hold’s its breathe waiting for the next moment when it can exhale a glorious cloud that enshrouds me with its thick grey cloak of mystery and life.