When Worlds Collide

It’s a sad state of affairs when you find yourself caught in between, for we all find ourselves in such a position at one time or another - and probably more frequently then we would like to admit.

“And what do I mean by that?”, you ask.

Well, in my own case, it has everything to do with the ‘daytime David’ and the ‘nighttime David’ - and yes, there’s a distinction.

I can’t speak for all creative people, but for me, there is a certain natural dualism that resides within me and depending on the time of day, one part may show itself more prominently than the other. I’m not exactly sure what that is about but when it comes to different forms of artistic expression, there are certain parts of the day that lend themselves to different areas of that work.

For instance, I find the actual learning of new pieces on the piano to be easier during the daylight hours - whereas, when it comes to writing - there are times when evening seems best.

And then of course, there are the times when one just wants ‘to be’, without actually creating anything - other than an energy path through time, as it is occurring.

My point, at this moment, is that I am at a crossroads - I’d love to write more (because I feel that I could), but time dictates to me that I must be in bed, because the day has run its course and there are no more hours left to me this evening in which I could indulge the urge to write.

In other words - it’s late. 

I must go to bed because there is another day starting soon and though creativity may be ‘alive’ to one at all hours of the day, and come to one at an ‘inappropriate’ time, and beg to be explored, released and brought, through the breath of the creator, into life - there are certain demands made on the physical body that must be obeyed - such as sleep - and this is where I find myself at the moment - caught between the pulsing, undeniable, desire to create - and the mundane, but all too real understanding that I must - to bed.

It’s a quandary - but not really - were I younger, carefree, single, footloose - I would not try to cage or tame the beating wings, the heart of the bird that longs to go on singing.

But life rolls on. Worlds collide. And sometimes. The heavily planted foot upon the ground wins the day - and not the butterfly longing for higher skies and thinner air.

I think that means it’s bedtime.

But - there are always dreams…