Confusions In The Night Realm

I I have no use for a blanket, however beautifully it would wrap itself around my dreams. I have Night itself to shelter me: I am more likely to be broken or lost than cold. I just imagine my ancient past as a hairy beast, grunting rather than complaining, and immediately I feel animal warmth rise and spread through every joint and crevice of my body. As for that concern of so many waking hours, human loneliness, the Night is older than the need for another. Dreams themselves are a bother! Remember Adam's dream of Eve, or rather forget it. You have no further need for its sentimental trap. You have the Night's Panorama. It has replaced both warmth and companionship. II Another part of me does not surrender to the Night despite its immemorial sway. Should I awake before dawn and feel the stab of lost loves, I am plunged into the Sympathy of Things. I wonder how many preventable sorrows are poised on the edge of being realized, as I sleep in oblivious pleasure? What if I stay awake and tighten my resolve, will my vigilance stop a sorrow before it finds a final niche from which to launch its dream of fulfillment? My cry in the Night is ever, Let me help! Let me do good! Lately, I have been exploring the mixed condition of half-sleep and half-wakefulness. Which will prevail? Have I any control? Often I cannot hold the balance and I tumble deep into the Night Realm, and all is oblivion. But I sense I am getting stronger, and shafts of the Day Realm shoot past me and illuminate the depths. And Day and Night are equally benign.