Unmade bed by Bruce Cohen
I open one eye, check if it is anywhere near daylight and get up anyway in search of coffee. Maid service would be nice, but although she wears the regulation black and white uniform, Ani makes terrible coffee and I would not trust her with a tray. Or the coffee. And she can’t curtsey.
So I’m awake. I really wish I was one of those lovely people who can turn over and go back to sleep, but I’m not. As soon as the morning strokes my eyes with fingers of light, the mind starts heaving sleepy gears into action and before you know it a train of thought is merrily chugging along at full steam.
Of course, the body may not be so happy about it, lazily appreciating that perfectly-made-bed feeling. You know, the one that is warm, cosy and has never, ever felt so good. The one that makes straightening the covers as you leave them a philosophical question on why we bother to make the bed at all. After all, we have just left perfection, why would we seek to change it by removing all trace of its presence. We leave behind only a vague and fleeting memory and an elusive yearning to return and find that enveloping beauty, that place where the conscious mind lets go and flies into a realm of miracles and impossibilities, into dreams where imagination is the only limitation.
But of course, once you have subtracted yourself from the pile of covers, that perfection has been irretrievably altered. It has been changed, lacking your essential warmth and presence. It is no longer complete, though it is itself still whole without you in it, a testament to its own existence and purpose. Yet the essential ingredient is lacking to fulfil that purpose. It requires your presence, your surrender to its embrace, your agreement and submission to its invitation, before it is again truly whole.
One could speculate about why we have to leave it at all, but obviously, there is work to do, people to meet, love and laughter beyond its confines as well as, occasionally, within them. A bed is such an intimate place, on so many levels really. Who has not curled up in misery, tears streaming and heart aching within its comforting embrace? Or played there as a child plays, full of light and simple joy? Or dreamed those private dreams of the heart.
Our beds seem to know us, moulding to our shape over the years, welcoming us after absence. Even when the mattress is getting a little well worn and the springs get uncomfortable, digging into the tender bits. It doesn’t matter whether they are clothed in silks and rich colour, or simple and white, there is something about them that speaks of home.
We have established, of course, that my mind wanders some convoluted pathways occasionally, so it will come as no surprise that I began comparing my relationship with my bed to that between the Divine and the soul. I’m old fashioned, I call It God.
At birth I left Perfection, though It remains. It holds me through the dark times and shares the bright ones with me. I return to It, awake to Its embrace daily, knowing as I go through the journey of life, learning its ways, that It awaits my return, enriched with experience, encounters, love and tears. In Its warmth as my surfaces sink into that melding, I learn to see behind events and find deeper meaning and beauty, as I trust It to hold me and keep me safe, knowing that in the intimacy and comfort there is rest and peace. There is no separation when the heart knows that perfection awaits.
Feb 2013
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
While not the message’s intent, this reminds me that I must purchase a new mattress. Thanks for the prompt. (I’m thanking God, too.) And Annie makes coffee?
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Hey, Ani is a highly unusual small dog 🙂
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A very beautiful piece of writing. I too love my bed. Last night was a difficult one for me. Waking early wasnt the problem, but falling asleep in the first place. I havent dreamed in ages. Wonder why that is…
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Probably too tired… I dream a lot but don’t sleep well.
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Oh then you are not getting much rest at all! Still, dreams can be wonderful exleriences, so at least you have that. When I was young I dreamed a lot but never remembered them when I woke. Now I rarely dream but always remember them. I hope yours are lovely!
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Vivid.. but not always lovely! I do remember them though. There seems to be something about being really tired that makes them more memorable somehow.
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I hope thats a fair trade off! Some people are night owls…maybe you could take a siesta.
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I can seldom sleep in the day these days… I have runs at it where I can. I’ll sleep on the proverbial washing line when the mood takes me 🙂
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The ancient people of Ireland supposedly used sensory deprivation to achieve enlightenment, or to communicate with their ancestors and / or the Gods… maybe your sleep deprivation is leading you that way. You’re gonna have to surrender and go with it!
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I have… and I do… and as I have a trip to an ancestral place coming up the communication could be…interesting 🙂
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Ah! So now we’re getting somewhere! Well good luck with that. Yes, I think you’re right, its going to be very interesting!
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Watch this space 😉
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Already am! 😊
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*chuckles* yes, that’s true 🙂
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I love my bed. It is the only place in the world where I am truly comfortable. Now, if only I could also sleep … THAT would make it perfect. Great post, full of echoes.
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You and me both, Marilyn… they are wonderful fro snuggling in… but not so great for tossing and turning…
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But I’ll bet Ani makes wonderful tea!
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No… but she’ll drink it if anyone leaves it lying around 😉
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An this proves, Ani is a wise soul. Never turn down tea.
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🙂
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Reblogged this on theowlladyblog.
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Reblogged this on MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Interviews.
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