Sanctuary of Blue Light


I’m sipping on hot spearmint tea and wondering whether I should have made the Nepali green tea instead. It’s perfect, warm in my throat and my hands, sweetened lightly by a spoonful of sugar and patience.

My room mate is sick and coughing harshly in her sleep, and I can’t help but want to give her my tea, my health, my rest, just to stop that awful sound. It hurts me to think that she’s ill, not for my own well-being, but for hers.

I’m starting to lose focus, glassily gazing into the buzzing calm light of my Christmas lights. So clear and so blue, like pinpricks of a perfect glimpse into a deep sea… They put me to sleep, they make me think, they give me hope of beauty in such a tiny form. I want to touch them, but there’s this fear that if I do, they’ll explode in a shower of sparks and never return. I can make them glitter when I wave my fleece blanket by them. Oh, the wonder of static!

Only a few more hours… I need this schedule to work out or nothing will… putting these thoughts aside, I close my eyes and bask in the sanctity and sanctuary found in night. The fridge hums softly, my breathing, the occasional clinks in the heater. Curling up closer with my snuggie, I gaze again into the sea of azure. I just watched a Honda commercial about dreams and suddenly remembered how much I love Clive Barker… every brushstroke, every letter… so beautiful and terrifying and sweet and cold. Such a tumultuous wave of emotion and art that it takes my breath away every time I turn the page.

Everything about the night seems sacred. The whole dorm heaves and contracts with hundreds of souls breathing, windows expanding and doors swinging open and shut. The sounds are scarce, the heater, the fridge, a cough. Even outside, if the weather is rough, there is a window through the storm to the eye, calm and still and clear. I am trying to find that eye in my heart, and am still fighting the cold and snow, but I know it’s here somewhere behind the clutter and some pain. I will find that clarity, that breath of fresh air. I can’t wait until it snows.

Closing my eyes and laying my head back against my chair… so soft and so warm… only a few more hours. I can make it from here. I don’t want to sleep, not yet. My body is screaming to rest, but night hushes it with a engulfing rebuke. These moments are sacred, the only one awake in a sea of those sleeping. The halls are so still, taking a well deserved rest until the waking of the early few who break that solemn code.

Night is solitary, contemplative, sacred and still.

Cheek and neck illuminated, gazing at the wall. What will tomorrow bring? How long will I sleep? How many hours until home, until the only people who truly love me unconditionally will have me in their arms? How can I escape from this void of utter lonliness? Christ is an assistant in this time, but there is a part of me that craves my family. I have given up on my friends for that kind of love. I have shaken the dust off my sandals and walked a separate path. My heart hurts too much to stay where I’ve been.

Three more hours… I will make it still.

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About SisyphusFalls

I have been writing ever since I could read, and before that simply using my imagination. I write, think and love deeply.

Posted on November 3, 2009, in Reflection and Observation. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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