Lying in bed at night, a little tormented by various worries about work and other things.
Tossing and turning, uncomfortable, too hot, can’t sleep….tightening of limbs and joints.
And then, ah…yes…..yes……and I sink into the fabric of this.
Saved by the real. This is real. The night, the pillow, the outside, the still leafless branches.
Curiously, the real always saves us. Always carries us with it, on its chest, through hardship.
Strangely, it is the reality of all this, that makes it bearable, livable, blissful, sustainable.
Constant Voice 