-- In the Land of Slumber --

John Herlihy

When we go into the land of slumber,

There is no guarantee that we will return.

When we enter freely this land of wonder,

We make a brief farewell, our bridges burn.

One moment we are awake counting sheep,

Wondering if we are ever going to disappear.

Into the land of dreams, we peacefully sleep,

As this alternative reality begins to appear.

What guarantee do we have to re-awake?

We but rely on a trust that all will be well.

That the spirit who created us will not forsake,

The sacred trust of which the holy scriptures tell.

Each given a destiny to live as unique allotment;

We follow the path we are destined to pursue.

Everything has a true place, unease or contentment,

As birds destined to fly or wind that freely blew.

In slumberland, we lose all sense of passing time,

The sun never rises and therefore the sun never sets.

The day exists in situ as a moment uniquely mine,

A meeting of souls with purpose, with no regrets.

In a sense, the time spent sleeping is time stolen;

When we wake up, the time seems but a second.

Many hours we lie unconscious, church bells tollin’;

We even forget all the vivid dreams that beckoned.

Who are the people we in our dreams encounter?

Sometimes we know them, but more often we don’t.

Sometimes caught in a vicious circle and we flounder;

We don’t know we are sleeping; yet awaken we won’t.

Sometimes our dreams are filled with a sense of bliss;

A magical happiness briefly felt as enduring and real.

Other times, our dreams are filled with all we miss;

Our self confidence and certainty there only to steal.

To go to sleep is to enter the realm of the unknown,

A mysterious land that we are granted to explore.

Unrealities by day become realities newly known,

Riding the crest of a wave heading for nearby shore.

Let me speak of the danger, of straying far too far;

The astral body on its own connected by mere thread.

Travelling through outer space, passing star after star,

All the while in the comfort zone of one’s own bed.

Until first light touches the thin texture of our lids,

Roused from a deep well, birthed again from dream.

Then the new day arrives and our consciousness bids,

Having crossed over, once again, the day/night seam.

And when we awaken, yea, when we finally awaken,

Drawn back into our body, to see with the mind’s eye.

Having taken our leave, the land of slumber forsaken,

We give thanks for our blessings as the day draws nigh.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Sunday 31 October 2021