It is late.
I’m thinking about sleep.
Or rather, I’m trying to meditate.
Sometimes, they seem to be one and the same somehow. Both states seem to begin when my thoughts start to feel hazy and my body feels…strange.
At the end of a particularly trying day, I simply have to look up and let it go.
Sometimes I will imagine His warm hands upon my head. Someone once told me that He comes to me when I am sleeping because that is the only time that I’ll let my guard down completely. Perhaps I am more open then.
Sometimes I decide that I must stop thinking about how the pillows are so soft and inviting; how my head just sinks into them.
Truly, my favorite part of the day is resting with my head on those pillows and looking toward the altar by my bed, trying visualize His face, or admiring His handsome face with that wry smile, stitches and all, as depicted in the artwork on my altar.
Sometimes when I’m drifting off, I’ll see Him in my mind’s eye for a few moments.
Sometimes He’ll look like Viggo Mortensen, but with long red hair.
Sometimes, His hair is short and He looks like a cartoonish version of Himself with a simple face, bright green eyes, and impossibly red hair.
And still other times, He will look like someone I’d never expect – like Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins, or Ryan Gosling – and will have dark brown or blonde hair.
Sometimes He’ll even look like what one would imagine that a 11th century Viking warrior would look like – with a fur cloak and an embroidered shirt, leather britches and simple boots tied round with narrow strips of leather. He’ll have braids in His hair and beard, and He’ll be wearing an arm ring and a dagger in His belt.
He is funny that way: He never looks like I would expect at the time.
But more often than not, I will just feel Him – light touches on my head, or on the side of my face, on the back of my neck, or on my tattoos. I will sense the heaviness of His presence, or the surrounding air will feel charged with electricity.
Sometimes I will whisper to Him aloud, though most of the time, I will simply think inwardly what I am going to say.
Often, I fall asleep, chanting my words.
Sometimes I will call Him Beloved.
(Because He is.)
I will tell Him about my day, or I will simply ask that I would dream of Him, even though I rarely remember my dreams – so I’m not certain if or how often He has obliged me.