wake, realise the apnea mask is in place.
Take it off. It is effective. Sleeping without panic wakening is possible. As a child there was a dream of three nuns who would appear in all dreams for weeks, to finally jump on the dreamer in his dream.
And smother him, leaving him to awaken, choking agasping aghast. A terrorized child of nine.
Mother helped, explained that there is nothing to fear because nuns are the essence of goodness.
Old memories like those flood in like the light of the dawning day, disquieting uncomforted, in spite of the warm bed, the comfort of a night’s sleep.
To the tinnitus his in the right ear remember the nightmare, dark episode located dreamside at Glenmalure, in the hills. A stake, a fence pole, slung by a dark enemy like some huge spear into the space between tummy and chest. The dimming dream dreams of the end of life.
The first fear of dying and the remembrance of the first fear of personal mortality, now.
Was it apnea then too? A six year old dwelling on his visits to the stewards at Laragh, near the holy Gleann da Locha. Beauty and the beastliness of childhood alone.
That was over fifty years ago now.
The son is listening to minecraft videos, stampy nose or some such.
Make coffee, one for the wife in bed.
Blog.
Hug good morning he seems happy.
and so the day is on its way
A post scriptum for late comers:
Three nuns was my fathers tobacco when he smoked a pipe, a german in Ireland being Irish.
A smell to choke on to
Take it off. It is effective. Sleeping without panic wakening is possible. As a child there was a dream of three nuns who would appear in all dreams for weeks, to finally jump on the dreamer in his dream.
And smother him, leaving him to awaken, choking agasping aghast. A terrorized child of nine.
Mother helped, explained that there is nothing to fear because nuns are the essence of goodness.
Old memories like those flood in like the light of the dawning day, disquieting uncomforted, in spite of the warm bed, the comfort of a night’s sleep.
To the tinnitus his in the right ear remember the nightmare, dark episode located dreamside at Glenmalure, in the hills. A stake, a fence pole, slung by a dark enemy like some huge spear into the space between tummy and chest. The dimming dream dreams of the end of life.
The first fear of dying and the remembrance of the first fear of personal mortality, now.
Was it apnea then too? A six year old dwelling on his visits to the stewards at Laragh, near the holy Gleann da Locha. Beauty and the beastliness of childhood alone.
That was over fifty years ago now.
The son is listening to minecraft videos, stampy nose or some such.
Make coffee, one for the wife in bed.
Blog.
Hug good morning he seems happy.
and so the day is on its way
A post scriptum for late comers:
Three nuns was my fathers tobacco when he smoked a pipe, a german in Ireland being Irish.
A smell to choke on to
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