#930 Thursday 26 June

It's 1:30am .... I'm not going to be able to sleep for a while .... I had another nightmare and it was a particularly bad one.  I hope that there's no life after death  .... because if there isn't then I can look forward to no more nightmares.

When the papers report accounts of people who have suffered childhood abuse and how they never get over the effects of the abuse,  I completely agree. Fifty years later and I still don't sleep.

Later ... Still awake .... I can't even settle enough to play Solitaire.  That's the one game that I can actually play .... I keep a rough tally of how many games ... it's about 5 and a half thousand.  The tally isn't exact because each time I have to do a "restore" of the phone, the tally goes back to zero.

Later again ..... the eyes want to sleep but the brain won't stop whirring.   Sorry .... the blog isn't about Kaylia tonight .... it's just me.  At times like this the brain won't let me even think about the techniques I've been taught to try and control it.

This is a poem I wrote years ago .... it just seems right to include it here.

Cry for the lost years

All time is three

and three is one

Past present and future

are with me always as one

but ever present as three

The past is our wisdom and experience

that guides us through the present and

leads us into the future

The mem’ries of the past have shaped

my past and have shaped my present

and will shape the time still to come

Part of the past is always present

but unwanted

It was not welcome or sought -

the space that it takes in my mind

was hacked .... and torn .....

stolen from my then present

to be the ever present thief of my future.

When present in the past the thieves stole the unborn future

Now they slowly creep through my mind

and mindlessly they steal again ...

my present time ripped blindly from my open hand

Damn you! ...  Damn you .....

You unthinking vandals of my life

have taken the present which might have been

and with callous cruelty you keep on stealing my present

and scrawl your obscene graffiti

onto the pages of my future

I cannot rewrite the pages which are wrote

I cannot reclaim a past which never happened

but I can accept the pain and learn .....

.... welcome the pain and build its bittersweet taste

into my present -

and use the lessons so painfully learned

to shape my future as I choose.

So cry for the lost years

Weep for them and grieve

but when the end is seen of all the tears ....

..... then welcome the time now

and welcome the time to come

© Ian Croft Jan ‘97