Different dimensions at the dead of night

There are plus sides to being an insomniac. On dark nights, filled with clouds, after a thunder struck evening you can slowly watch the mist engulfing your tiny home. Odd memories and odd dreams mix together to form a strange connotation.

You can hear the crickets and other insects slowly singing into the night. You can feel the slowly rising cold from outside engulfing your inner self. You can see the moonlight sky and stars dancing around whispering their tales of joy and sorrow.

And there, at that time you can feel a different vibrant unfettered you. A new relaxed you, who does not bother about what to cook, how to teach or the other mundane activities. A new you, who is on an altogether different dimension from the day version of you. Your brain becomes an intruiging story teller. Fleeting thoughts, random observations and old feelings come back to haunt you in the dead of the night.

I usually often stay up after my boys have slept. My fundamental purpose remains to take them to the toilet one more time, so that I have less trouble in the later part of my sleep. When my nonstop chatter boxes have dozed off to their dream land, exhausted by their own din, my precious time begins. My time with myself – my me time!

Sometimes I plan the next day, from the comforts of my bed. Some other breezy nights, I cherish this time by spending it with my beloved books. Sometimes, I relive the moments of the day. Some eloquent nights, have been spent gazing the moon, the sky with studded stars. Sometimes, with my headphones in the lull of air conditioning, I finish a series that I had started in the day. And at times, if I am not too lazy, I write.

I write for myself. My words are an echo of my thoughts. I offer to do no poetic justice to them. I am just an amateur with a wild spirit, trying to find solace in the touch of the paper. Words and their silent music rings in my ears. I try to be true to my myself. The mother, daughter, wife, doctor me melts away in the darkness of night. When I sit at my desk, I lovingly embrace the strength and solitude of my pen.

Sometimes, I longingly wait for all the din of the day to disappear so that I can be one with my thoughts. With two toddlers, forever at my feet, it becomes nearly impossible but I try and scribble down some memories along the day, as and when they appear. Most of the times, those pages are marked by innumerable incoherent color pencil sketches and retrieving content from them itself becomes a task!

And sometimes, I just introspect. It is a wonderful feeling to be alone with your thoughts. They can be blissful and merry or frightening and dull depending on their content and your control. You can either let your imagination loose and run amok with ideas or you can rein your thoughts and focus on your meditative spirit.

This time for me has now become a must and an integral part of my existence. How and when do the rest of you write? Please give suggestions and share ideas. 💡🙏