Author’s Note: I wrote this immediately after reading a post by my good pal the wonderful Sue Vincent and her struggles with sleep. I hope you enjoy it.
When one is small, the night terrors seem all the more fearsome, bigger, unavoidable. The act of sleeping becomes a nightmare that one will do anything to avoid. Anything!
The beauty of youth lies in the length of the days and the innocent belief they will never end. The sun will rise to hang in the sky seconds dragging to minute, minutes to hours. Years never enter the equation. This is the way of things. The moon, however, is a fleeting visitor. This changes with time.
As an adult, the days shorten and nights increase. The inevitable slide toward death sees the daylight hours hurtle by at a rate of knots, the nights drawing out in their passage to one continuous darkness. For a child of nightmares who grows into adulthood, this is the worst time of all. Not everyone sheds the fears of youth. I think she knew this.
She came as a gathering of dust motes illuminated by the moon. Of no discernible distinction, more cloud than woman, she accumulated each night in the deepest recesses of my subconscious. I did not know her only of her. Neither did I dread her though some might have. She was the nightly reassurance that someone, anyone watched over me.
I did not shake the nightmares overnight. I wish I had, but that would be a lie. They were weaned from me like a child form its mother’s milk. A gentle coaxing of one soul from here to there with whispered affirmations and unseen smiles. She was so kind. No, that is wrong. She is so kind.
So, who is she, this woman with the opal eyes, this misting nymph? I do not know, I never have. All I can tell you is this: there are things we do not understand, and she is one of them. Neither do I wish to understand her. There are times when it is better to just close one’s eyes and dream.