Attempt not to Vomit

I lay in bed this morning, having expected to fall asleep the instant head met pillow. Unable to sleep, I stared at a ceiling lit by the upturned halogen floodlight of a next-door neighbour’s garden. The shaft of too bright white splashed across the room shone so strongly that, even with my eyes screwed shut, I could make out its impression in the not-quite pinks and greens of clamped eyelids.

Having waited a while for the light outside to die or be extinguished, I lay on my back and tried to force myself into sleep. I stretched and tensed muscles in pairs along my body, attempting to will them into a state of relaxation, a trick gleaned from some otherwise forgotten yoga book. Entering a torpid state of near-paralysis, I began to drift toward sleep, but the light still cast it a knotty, indistinct reflection across my vision.

Over time, the knots in what I could see formed themselves into discreet parcels, stones scattered across a landscape of rolling hills, jutting rock, and deep green grass. The sky was white with cloud, and I became dimly aware that I was both awake and beginning to dream. I opened my eyes long enough to take in the whiteness above, and closed them again.

I was faced once more with the string of standing stones, stark and striking, severe against a sun-streaked sky.

On the ground there was a puddle and, now fully absorbed by the dream, I dipped my face to it, as though I were about to shave. I plunged face first into the reflective pool, a foot or so from one end to another, and felt myself slip into it. I was conscious still that I was dreaming, that I could wake up or disengage somehow, but too curious to do so. I remember, in my tired state, thinking that I was exhausted and needed proper sleep, not some strange shamanic spiritualism.

As I finished that line of reasoning, I had already slipped headfirst through the surface of the water and into some unfathomable underground lake. The effect was dizzying; I looked upward and saw that the blueness around me was illuminated by the sky above, from the puddle I had fallen through. I reflected, for a moment, that this must be the same light cast across the ceiling overhanging where some portion of me lay sleeping, but it was a fleeting thought. I was far enough from consciousness to feel myself drifting, surrounded by a scurf of minuscule bubbles.

Just as I felt myself start to get too fuzzy to really be able to separate distinct feelings and impressions, the neighbours turned off their lights. I woke, somehow dissatisfied.

Good morning 2012