At Three in the morning, my bionic ears open to the hum of some machine somewhere in the house, followed by that piercing sharp stinging that comes in the stillness of the approach of dawn, yet soothed by soft breaths purring in and out. Moments like these are the reason I have altogether abandoned a ticking clock. When people ask, “How are you doing?” I respond, “Fine, I’m doing fine.” But then why does the time pass so quickly with my eyes open each night more frequently?
The mind stutters.
Then they are followed by blank laments that lack response,
And I lay here going a little mad until the roar of the first distant engine when the light begins to shine and I feel ready to put on my uniform disguised in solid, vibrant hues sans cape to change the world.
I teach, “Breathe! Make it so deep you feel the body spread open like a big red balloon floating almost above ground except for the tip
Of your very longest toe and feel the surge of life! Exhale it out and sink back down in relief.”
I sing,”Listen carefully to the vibrations of the earth before allowing the clutter of thoughts to close back in and drown out the chirping of early morning birds.”
I cry, “Be alive because we are alive! Take a moment to draw in the scent of any flower, such as daffodils which smell like earth!”
And, “Move your steps to the rhythm of that tune stuck in your head desperately pressing to be released from the wall that exists between the space where imagination stirs and place where the five senses snap you back into clarity.”
And thank God that there was once upon a time sense enough to really abandon the analogous ticking time because it makes all the difference in moments like these.


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