I have always felt a serenity upon sleeping. I love my bed. I love to dream. I love the moments between wakefulness and sleep. The feeling of my brain shifting gears is so sweet. I start to see it play its movies, always telling me things in visual puns and metaphor. Sleep is a kind of heaven for me, though I love my waking days too.
Sleep comes so that my dreams may live.
When the stars come out to play and the evening takes on that aroma of the night, when the crickets sing for the joy of living, my bed awaits. I love the softness, the quiet, the sense of rest. My thoughts slow as a beautiful carousel, each dancing as ribbons from a kite string that reaches for sky, its colours embracing those lofty heights and inviting in the dreams that wear festival costumes and are formed of music. In sleep, as in wakefulness, I play.
In sleep I feel the cradle of the loving universe, as if for those hours of dreaming I am returned to heaven's arms.
Sleep in my arms, sleep in my protective and loving arms, for if you ever need protection I will awake and take care of the task.