it must have been around 1:15 am.  i was sleeping beside my wife.  suddenly, i heard her scream.  it wasn't at all a movie type scream.  it actually sounded quite operatic, as though "the fat lady" (no implications intended at all!  really.) were trying to hold a note at the end of the opera.  and it sounded as though while she held that note, she were falling from some high, far-off place.  her voice started off soft and distant, and rapidly increased in volume, cutting off at the loudest, most fear-ridden point, and ending with an impact that brought the both of us to a disturbed wakefulness.

i held my wife as she whimpered, cried.  "what happened," i murmured...

***

in the silence that ensued, i had my own dark thoughts.  my own selfish thoughts.  something about how people talk about understanding, but when it really comes right down to it, understanding is usually the last thing that people practice when they encounter others.  people run on their own intuitions, which may or may not be correct, but which inevitably-

i like to think that understanding sometimes is a leap of faith.  it is a belief that somewhere deep inside, someone is there, and that someone is a good person, worthy of respect.  there is a whole lot in the way of that, unfortunately.  a whole lot...

in my musings, i thought of one gregarious and sociable person.  in an imaginary conversation, in which she actually would deign to speak to me, she said, in the most honest way, "you know, i meet with so many people in my line of work.  and it's only when i interact with you, that, well, something is wrong."

and of course, there are the rumblings within me, the objections...  they rise briefly, but like an ingrown hair, their direction inevitably turns back in upon their source, digging into me...  "you're right, of course," finally, a defeated confession comes out.  and once again, i walk away, consigned into the darkness...

***

what i fear most is the Sleep.  it is the Sleep which takes my words, the promises of love and everything good i hope to be, or ever was, and it smothers all of these things with its dead, lidded eyes.  it drags its heavy, clinging fingers over me, and turns me into it, so that all of these good intentions are defeated, not in the waking light of day, not in the battlefield of the present, but always before.  and the eyes of the world, the eyes of the ancestors, the eyes of god, they all only see what is revealed.  they cannot see the demon of Sleep dragging me under...