Weekday Alarm

I am anxious as my 5:30 beeping alarm grows defiantly louder, reminding me of surreal difference between asleep, longing for better days awake, and, now awake, longing for more sleep struggling toward alarming predawn buttons to release from this first crisis for depressing life's day-rousing alarms. I wish for a more therapeutic, more leisurely, more retiring way to awake, if I truly must. Nearby, my son who cannot speak or walk, but hears just fine, sleeps on. Eyes closed. Dimple mischievously appearing in full moon's light. What could be his difference between light unconsciousness of competing spoken day and dark consciousness of cooperating listening night? And is this so very different from vast humane majorities of nations, who speak too much by day to listen and listen too briefly at night to speak of dreams we might share arising once again together toward depressing buttons of despair for this another alarming Earth Day. This Earth day with too many speaking half asleep to future invitations; Earth nights listening back to this internal nap half awakened by past convocations of memory as light forgetfulness through therapeutic dark night. My muted son, though hardly silent, as he can be a loud red-charging bull yet in a peaceful playful warrior way to those who believe we know his inside sleep showing through his outside wake to share Earth's daytime communion. He and I are equally invisible indivisible undiscriminated by night and, I suppose, both using light to brighten differences between inside me and outside not yet, not still double-bound somehow like outside views impossible without inside longings to remember our shared inside-outside intentions. Wishes and fears, hopes and angers, loves and hates unraveling by predative day arisen from our warm dry beds of praying affluence. Longings and belongings, seductions and reductions, inductions and deductions, terrible investments and terrific divestments calculated reweavings by dualdark night within our Earthly rest from fully individuating difference. The alarm still echoes through my half awake ears as I stumble before dawn's light toward remembering how to become an enabling parent taught by disabling children of love. Recalled to how we might awake to love each other more before this night's rest reweaving Paradise. I am anxious as I depress my alarming button, a toggle switch icon transitioning anxieties of sleep through opportunities of life together awake. My son turns over toward his wall of darkening comfort as he prepares to dream our Therapeutic Warrior songs and dances once again. His dimpled prayers rise with me.