Awake

It's been years. And I have slept. But the title of this post is a dream. Of the desire to whittle down the hours of unconsciousness in order to recapture, retake, and greedily savour a few extra hours all to myself each day I live in this incredible city.  Tonight I dropped the book that I resent and despise, and took a careful look at my Brazil posts from years ago. I slept too much there too. But life is different now and I feel as if I am a different person leading an entirely different life. A more difficult life but better. Unquantifiably better.
A colleague questioned my claim to happiness recently. And it made me think.  And reconsider the elusive definition of that blissful chemical state. I believe am I ready to conclude that a definition is irrelevant if the underlying feeling exists. Tangible or no.
Ben Okri spoke a few years ago of the significance of the opening lines of the Rubaiyat. The implication that until the reader has heard the call, "Awake!", their life has been lived consciously in the haze of sleep. As I age, the significance of that one line increases until it keeps me from slumber - calling me to consciousness and urging me to get up, get out, and get on with it. Or just get away from the things that feel wrong or a waste of those hours that creep ever steadily on.
Tolerance wanes with the waking of this feeling and urgency that tiptoes in unawares. And with it, there is a release that defies description - the feeling that washes over you when you realise that nothing matters at all except what you think and feel and love and want. And that it's about time things moved in that direction. With a modicum of care, affection, and warmth of course. But enough of putting yourself last - or putting others always first - an awakening indeed.