Originally this blog had two contributors - Mr. Odd Job - we had a kind of call and response. Mr. Odd Job has been busy - but sends this response to this one...
Mr. Odd Job's Bed
I hug the narrow strip of land, my back to the expanse of dark behind me. The waters roll and my breath catches. I am a stranger at the sea, and I have come to hate and fear her like a primitive. Though I am layered in cloth armor, the ocean reaches for me. I can never tell if it is intentional or not, and in truth it doesn't matter. In the daylight of a stolen afternoon, I can enjoy the expanse. My body uncurls and I feel gigantic and free. Blood swells in me as my dreams relish in the open calm of sheets, pillows and blankets. In this moment, I have no dominion and no dominion has me, the ocean loses its malevolence, becomes an extension of me and I float, swim and dive in the my own skin.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Ocean of Bed
At the start of this journey, I stayed close to shore. I laid myself gingerly on 'my side' of the bed and stared across the empty space next to me. On the other side of the body pillow I hugged like a life raft, a great empty ocean mocked me. No matter how often I quieted myself and held onto the life preserver, I would wake up confused and lost when I woke up in the uncharted waters. The night stand would be to further away and I had to strain to find the snooze button; the edge of the bed seemed so to great a distance for my short legs to reach to.
So slowly I didn't realize I was doing it, I learned to swim, float, and dive. During my sleep, my body let go and trusted itself. No longer did my toes search out to find that ankle and my back decided that it wasn't searching to lean against something warm anymore. My arms decided they were tired of the fruitless search for a chest to rest on and my head began to race eagerly to the pillow instead of a shoulder. While my brain rested, my body taught what beauty there was in the weightlessness of the ocean that had frightened me a short time before.
Now I stretch to each far corner – testing the limits of the bed. The pillows that used to be body floats are slowly becoming more of a hassle than a reassurance. My limbs have found the easy rhythm of this ocean and they rest quietly in a dreaming back float, no longer searching for anything. We've all found home.
So slowly I didn't realize I was doing it, I learned to swim, float, and dive. During my sleep, my body let go and trusted itself. No longer did my toes search out to find that ankle and my back decided that it wasn't searching to lean against something warm anymore. My arms decided they were tired of the fruitless search for a chest to rest on and my head began to race eagerly to the pillow instead of a shoulder. While my brain rested, my body taught what beauty there was in the weightlessness of the ocean that had frightened me a short time before.
Now I stretch to each far corner – testing the limits of the bed. The pillows that used to be body floats are slowly becoming more of a hassle than a reassurance. My limbs have found the easy rhythm of this ocean and they rest quietly in a dreaming back float, no longer searching for anything. We've all found home.
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