sleepless reduces past
awesome, distorted essence
of all we have met

Adapted from the passage:

It was a night I would remember poignantly but not wish to repeat. Insomnia opens the door to previously untraced memories, makes a mockery of the good sense that possesses us at high noon, and any effort we make to channel our thoughts twists the energy, rebukes us with half-finished faces, sexless bodies; we learn again that our minds are full of snares, knots, goblins, the backward march of the dead, the bridges that end halfway and still hang in the air, those who failed to love us, those who irreparably harmed us, intentionally or not, even those we hurt badly and live on incapsulated in our regret. The past thrives on a sleepless night, reduces it to the awesome, distorted essence of all we have met.

From Sundog: a novel : the story of an American foreman, Robert Corvus Strang, as told to Jim Harrison by Jim Harrison (Washington Square Press Collection: New Yor, 1989).

It had to happen didn’t it?

I am now of the age when too much can impact my sleep, but on the other hand, when hasn’t too much impacted my sleep.

I mean how many plates of turkey, pieces of pie, chunks of chocolate, handfuls of cookies covered in icing and gallons of drink can one person imbibe and not pay for it later?

It was little surprise that laying down my brain and my stomach where both operating at 1000mph.

A Christmas carol earwig was stuck in my mind and maybe Dicken’s Christmas Carol was on my mind as well as it started.

The previously untraced memories, makes a mockery of the good sense that possesses us at high noon.

Any effort we make to channel our thoughts twists the energy, rebukes us with half-finished faces, sexless bodies.

We learn again that our minds are full of snares, knots, goblins.

The backward march of the dead, the bridges that end halfway and still hang in the air, those who failed to love us, those who irreparably harmed us, intentionally or not, even those we hurt badly and live on incapsulated in our regret.

The past thrives on a sleepless night, reduces it to the awesome, distorted essence of all we have met.

It was a night I would remember poignantly but not wish to repeat.

God bless us, everyone.

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desire to learn for
pleasure’s of learning such a
joy to experience

Adapted from the line, “Gunnar Danielsson, secretary general of Folkuniversitetet, said: “The desire to learn for pleasure’s sake, or for the sake of learning as such, is a joy to experience in a society which is increasingly obsessed with learning and education as preparation for work.” as it appears in the article, ‘Keeps your mind alert’: older Swedes reap the benefits of learning for pleasure by the Nordic correspondent for the Guardian, Miranda Bryant.

Back in the day when I was in college this three older ladies sat next to me in the class, History of the High Renaissance in Tuscany.

There were assigned seats but we always found each and sat in a group and chatted before class.

They were lifelong residents of Ann Arbor and the University offered locals the chance to ‘audit’ class (if there was room) for the fee of $25.

The ladies said they had been ‘going to school’ for years and loved learning new things.

That has stayed with me and I have always had this need to know and a curiosity about everything.

For example, we moved to the coastal low country of South Carolina.

Maybe I was aware of things like salt marshes and tides but they had never entered my life before.

Now my tablets are full of books and articles on the salt marshes.

I follow and try to understand tides and tidal information which is something good to know when you live in a county that at high tide, is 50% underwater.

And I wholeheartedly endorses that line that states, “The desire to learn for pleasure’s sake, or for the sake of learning as such, is a joy to experience.”

Back in college, my major was US History and I read for most of my out of class classwork.

My roommates were engineers and nightly crouched over paper and textbooks and calculators.

They would look at me and ask was I reading for class or for fun.

I was answer, “What’s the difference?”