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The smell of the sweet morning dew air
caressed my nostrils with a natural scent
that filled my yet-closed eyes with visions
of the panoramic beauty yet to be behold
as I lay there in humble thanksgiving.
Sleep, whose exact moment of purgatory
sojourn can never be pinpointed, is often
a complex journey with allegorically woven
dreams and nightmares; it’s indeed a journey
into unknown multifarious awareness.
Though her destination is never known,
she—sleep—remains a cheerfully chosen journey
that is prayed for at any cost; and though return
to the place of unconscious departure isn’t assured,
the manifested tend to often assume that the sojourn
will always be an inevitable restful roundtrip excursion.
In awakened living, the only foreseen guarantee
is inevitable death; in un-awakened sleep, the only foreseen
inevitability is sleep, itself; the difference is that in the former,
resurrection is a prayed-for hope; whereas in the latter,
rising is an often taken for granted assumption.
Let us in our commissioned journey of purpose, be careful
to offer thanksgiving for each sleep’s tour and return to tasking.
Let us be careful not to live lives at the mercy of assumptions
But as laborers of love whose each morning’s uprising is the paid
wage—blessings—for living labors of love that have been well done.
