hora somni

The end of a day most often happens at the hour of sleep. Most often and for most men. A momentary measure of peace settles on the earth, and all mankind’s worries melt away, to sleep and to wake with renewed strength the next morning. And so we slink away, relieved by a moment’s respite from life’s heated battles and raging wars.

But some of us bear too many, too deep wounds to succumb to the Oneiroi’s illusions of calm. Some of us are forced to persist on assaults of the thoughts. And while others suffer and endure through them, others too embrace and thrive in them. It seems that I belong to the latter, for at hora somni my thoughts and the thoughts of the world swirl through my mind as if a fog conjured by Morpheus himself. But I may as well dream awake.

I thrive here because I have no choice. I embrace this hour because nothing remains but its acceptance. To fight it would be to beat a wall with a stick.