Self-embrace II Print

The other night a tiny humming bird sat on the edge my laptop screen, as I was trying to relax in bed. A quiet moment in-between its spastic activities. “Only you make me feel included” it said in the bird-language, that I could not understand. Does it matter what it meant, what it wanted to say? They hum, those birds, they are the humming birds. Crows are another kind of birds. Crows fly east, in great flocks, just before dawn. They look cinematic against the grey sky. Time is measured by the insomniac bird-watching. And when it’s light out, and when I know everybody is safe, I fall asleep. They think I’m lazy and undisciplined. They have no idea what it takes, to protect them like that, every night. I am not alone. From time to time everybody has trouble falling asleep. It’s hard to silence raging thoughts. To escape the noise I must try to embrace myself. I squat, or perhaps kneel, but on one knee only. I wrap myself in my own embrace. I place the palms of my hands on my shoulders. Beforehand I detach my head from my body and I put it on a chair. I let it face me, my eyes watching myself assuming the position. If keeping the proper form becomes challenging, I lean on the bed. I feel the support pushing back, reacting to the weight of my body. I let my head float. It’s best to look at myself from above. Perspective is everything. From there, the foreshortened view of my spine is refreshing. It looks as if I don’t have a torso at all. I see the sole of my foot peeping from under my buttock. There is a blank space where my neck once gave rise to my head, now a flat round surface, like an old, healed scar.