There is something about the lure of sleep. The body gets this at times of huge changes. I can no longer remember my adolescence, but I know my menopause. Sometimes the creaking of my body gets too loud and too heavy and I can sleep for 10, 11, 12 hours at a time. I dream of things symbolising discernment. I dream of the falling apart and the fear. And then I dream of the mending and the blending of my different parts into synchronicitous wholes. I dream of monsters who turn out to be only teenage boys who need feeding. I lean into the moon and let her brightness hold me. I let her swell my body into larger places. The ebb and flow of the flesh. As I am lost to her push and pull. I feel the beginning of a need to take up less space, be thin, recede a little. I am given the knowledge on how to let it leave me altogether, should I decide to work on it, should I accept this challenge. And through these internal conversations and revelations I sleep. I roll myself into a foetal position and hang onto myself. I clamber into the den. The igloo. The cold slows my heartbeat. I sleep. I preserve my energy by moving little and stilling my self. I move as if underwater. Yet I find I can breathe. That the stillness is home. I sleep. I dream. Sometimes I see people through a glass but at other times I find myself hugging them and laughing and swearing and crying. The connections are heart to heart or not at all. The test is now, immediate, I have precious little time left on the beauty of this green earth with its mystery and its settling amongst the stars, in the glare of the white moon. Either you accept me as a gin-swigging, foul-mouthed, women-loving near-grandmother hag, curves an all. Or you can circle out of my orbit. I care not for you if you care not for me. In every relationship, I ask myself what are you expecting from me that you are also offering me? Where are we in relationship to each other? Do you stand in good relation to me?