I awoke reluctantly, weighed down by the burden of drawing breath. I was devoid of ambition. No unresolved problem spurred me into action. No unmet need beckoned. No impending disaster threatened. A single desire loomed like a specter in my just-waking fog: let me be done with it. This life is complete.

But the bruising pressure of the mattress against my spine grew louder than my ennui. I shuffled downstairs for aspirin to ease the nagging in my back and then returned to the bedroom, slipped back under the covers, and waited. The pain reliever's caffeine cleared the clouds from my imagination. My equilibrium creaked back to center; the blood, bones, and breath of this lifetime became as inviting as the void that stretched beyond them.

The Dawns––pre- and post-caffeine––they seem so real, as though I might be trapped inside one or the other. Their story lines run parallel, as relentless as railroad tracks, but they are false selves. Me, Myself, and I? We're only dandelion puffs born on the winds of eternity.

Related posts:
Recycle
Thoughts About a Wedding