3am is a time but also a goddess leaking milk
It’s that time of night/day which feels timeless, out-of-sorts, the sound of ghost trains in the distance, that delicious doppler effect of a lone motorbike–sounds like a giant insect, animals sleeping nearby, and human voices talking, the language closely resembling the Sims.
I am sleepless while so many are now sleeping. On average following a sleeping pattern of 8 hours a night, that’s 229,961 of sleep time in a human life, a person sleeps 1/3 of their lives. And sleep is of course essential for repairing, recalibrating, downloading, re-vamping the body, I get it. But still that’s a lot of time. Now my greyhound Willow sleeps 18 hours a day on average, so half her life is spent in the realm of doggie dreams. And my cats, my old cats sleep more often now…there are a lot of dreamers in this house. But I am not one tonight.
Though…I do wonder what they dream of, the forms the shapes the colours the sounds, what moonbeams do they wander down?
Time is so perplexing to me. I think I spend too much time thinking about time…and it seems impossible to remove myself to observe it objectively…because time is subjective? Certain drugs lend consciousness a very different understanding of time, and from personal experience I have had my close encounters with the Keepers of Time. I remember being part of a rapid evolution happening right in front of my eyes and happening to my very self. I embodied ancient mythological creatures, even pre-written, like protoplasm, and then the Goddesses, then the stone monkeys, the sky itself..yes..I was some fragment of the universe giving birth to stars from my Hathor tits…for I was the horned Goddess surveying space, leaking at will the celestial milk from my tits and watching galaxies form. For me the experience went on outside of time, and yet come 7 am in the morning, upstairs humans were moving about, people were shuffling around on the footpaths near the house, and the trip was hitting that silvery metallic edge, that fluorescent flavour when only oranges and incense and Alan Stivell’s music offer solace after the long journey into deep space. So that was one experience with time, I danced barefoot and naked, not on any floors, but in the flow of creation, all in a tiny bedroom with purple walls, some books and a mattress on the ground.
And then I realise my period has arrived, I observe the blood on the tissue paper in the bathroom, another sense of time, all while still the shadows of Alice D remain, and the phone rings, and it signals the reasonable hours of telecommunications. But something so incredible has happened here. I am witness to my own timelessness, to every sentient beings timelessness. I barely have time to scribble my recollections, to meditate on them. Another kind of time trips me up, catches my arms, attempts to draw lines around my encounter…
It’s 3.50, I just saw the digital numbers change as I looked up at the right hand corner of my mac, and I hear the sound of buildings moving, my lover sleeping so peacefully beside me, my animals snoring, my fingers tapping against the backdrop of the void.