touch the thing that haunts you

often. with tenderness.

The other night, I had the unfortunate experience of waking up for a new day, ideas buzzing, pen close at the ready, only to discover that it was, in fact, only 1.50 am and I had no business being up, no business at all.

When this happens, I can usually stay in bed and resume sleep. I fall right back into my dreams. But not so last night. Small and large things made their way under the gap between the floor and the door and slipped into the room with me. Thoughts began to echo in my mind.

2.50 am , 3.40 am, then 4 am. They would not leave. Some old, some new, some things I have to do. I couldn’t get back to sleep for the life of me. They hung around and hung around to be touched, to be named.

I don’t think the things that haunt us necessarily want to hurt us; they wait to be understood. Understanding asks for tenderness. Touching the haunting means sitting alone with it…letting it tell you things. I treat bodily information like clues.