know what you're about!

Do you know what you're about?
Are you certain without a doubt
that you don't need an empty shout
to let those feeble words
flying out of your rattling loud mouth?

Get out, find your route
travel south on your knees if you may,
give your life a thought
'cause at the end of the day
when life faces you with a bout
you stand to win, after you have fought
if you've really come to know what you're about

"Power of the Sack"

2:01am 11/05/10
I remember the times when a good night sleep was my escape panacea from the throes and throbbing pains of a troubled day. An early night, long hours of sleep, and I wake up into a morning that didn’t feel as bad as the eve. Refreshed and renewed, I termed this the "power of the sack." It was almost like mathematics, just sleep it through and you’d feel better at dawn. Mom often said this. I even heard it in and around a couple times so much it started to wear an appearance that resembled truth. But these nights have begun to blur my perception of this truth. I’m not certain when the pain throbs more; in the middle of the night or just at dawn. There seems to be too many hours in my midnight, with shadows in my room that lurk around until the break of the day. This sac has lost its power--its power to heal, to shine a bright light upon darkness, to calm a hurting heart.

And so I think, perhaps that I should avoid the sack entirely, stay away from this dethroned imposter that over the years has made me believe its lies. How foolish I have been to have believed. Perhaps these nights I should stay awake, long through the dark , waiting and watching as the first traces of light rays trickle their way through the open spaces from my windows into my room. But hard as I try, I realize that I really am not so strong and willed enough to put up a fight against Mother Nature. She plans her course, controls her moves, and bestows upon mankind as she chooses. And that what befalls one is liable to befall all.

It is midmorning and my eye lids begin to fall. I find myself reluctantly yielding yet again to the "power", calling my body to rest from the hassles of a stressful day. Slowly, I give in, letting my body relax and carve its curves deep into the folds of my mattress. I pull for my covers, and reach for a pillow. How I would like to believe again in the "power" like I used to; hit the sack as an escape with the hope that my pains would be numbed at dawn. But I have come to agree that when you go to sleep with a broken heart, the waking up becomes the hardest part. And so this time, as I begin to slip through the thin edge of consciousness, laying here on the sack, I let out a short prayer asking for heavenly power to heal as I go through a long process of repair I know will still be here even when I wake up to breathe the morning air.