When I was young I could sleep for hours and hours. I stayed up until wee hours of the morning, painting or reading, or just gazing at the moon. Then I could easily sleep until noon. The only way I ever saw the sunrise was by staying up until it arrived. I loved my time in the stillness of the night, when everyone else was sleeping. And I loved the luxurious quality of my welcoming bed when I passed out from exhaustion.

 My body does not fare well when I try to stay up too much later than 11pm anymore. I did a one year stint of  graveyard shift graphic design several years back that cured me of that ability. Ever since I recovered from that job, I am useless in the late evening.

On the other had, I don’t sleep like I used to when so much younger, either. A lot of times, I’ll wake up at 3-4 am with a sudden inspiration that just won’t shut up. I keep index cards and a pen by my bed so I can write those down, ease my mind, and hopefully go back to sleep. Many times, though, the index card trick will not suffice. So, I rise.

In the stillness of early morning, I once again find that delicious solitude that feeds my spirit longing. As I engage in whatever creative endeavor the muse has prodded me toward, joy wells up and I know deep peace once more. I love to greet the sun infused with this creative joy. And I am grateful I only need my own permission to take a nap.