We seize this moment every day -
the opportunity to sleep.
Our lives and works in disarray,
so lay we down our heads like fey
Bo Peep.
Then sounds and visions flutter by
and form a semi-conscious stream.
Succumbing to an utter lie,
we question, like that butterfly
in Zhuangzi’s dream:
“Am I no more a man of ease?
And have I lost my guiding star
and forfeited amenities?”
We question our identities.
We question who we are.
We make this journey every night,
and every night it’s different -
reduced to some nocturnal wight,
embroiled in our latest plight
with death, survival in deferment.
Another life, a shadow life.
I care about it just as much
as this one, though it’s double strife
and, as a double, doubly rife
with mystery, enigma, doubt and such.