The whole world is moving

Someone in the apartment next door is sawing through redwoods in his (her?) sleep, and I’m trying to get tired enough so I don’t panic myself into insomnia.

Panic is perhaps one of the few things that can keep me from sleep.
Actually, in general, it simply paralyzes.

The thing is, though, panic is unnecessary. I always fall asleep. That cricket that somehow sneaked into the house and was chirping outside my door one summer evening in the ’90s did not come into my room.

Even if the situation is dire, panic debilitates and prevents action that could minimize the damage.

Upon arriving in France, I realized that panic was optional. That was a liberating lightbulb.

But in light of the tension in my lungs and heart, maybe this isn’t panic but more of a visceral and automatic reaction. I have noticed there are a few random little quirks in the world that make me want to rip out my hair and lock myself in a padded room.

In a less-than-melodious way, this (and everything, should I choose to be in the mood) reminds me that I miss home (where my walls were bordered by empty rooms and nature by night).
The songbirds this morning brought to mind Easter (the year it was blustery, the years we hunted for eggs, the sunrise service in the park, flowers and life) and Hawaii.
And this morning I woke to the sun, at just the right location, peeping through the slats in my blinds and warming my eyelids (my bed at home was always by a window and when I awoke I could see through the gap on side out to the trees or mountains and sky).
I did my devotions by the open window (not on the porch, which used to be but a dream from the gutted mud-room where I once watched a thunderstorm).

It’s the flowers blooming and my windowless “office” and the realization that I moved out.
The grass really is greener on the other side, even if the mountains are brown.

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