in the still of the night
I found myself awake through most of the night last night. I can’t say why. Awake is awake. I was aware of the quiet, the solemn stillness of the middle of the night. Something nourishing, reminding of the question, “What does the moon make grow?”
There was a time when being awake in the middle of the night was a far different experience. How many nights did I find myself awake, desperately thirsty, all alone, swamped with feelings of misery and hopelessness and victim-hood. Why’s life doing this to me? I remember those nights. Some while after this ongoing caravan of middle-of-the-night despair, I found myself hanging out with a bunch of people who said they drank too much and did drugs too much and were trying to do the sorts of things which could, and would, change that way of living. I was one of them. One night I heard a gentleman say, “It’s always three o’clock in the morning in the heart of an alcoholic.” It was like an electric charge running straight through me – that absolute degree of identification.
But not last night. Last night being awake at 3am was okay. It was pretty peaceful. The dark was a sweet, still place.
This morning, as happens so often, a song strolled into my head while writing my Morning Pages. The Five Satins with their “In the Still of the Night.” You might know it.