I love my bed.
Let me re-iterate that, I LOVE my bed.
After all, what’s not to love.
My bed is the first place each day that I realise I am alive and have a full day ahead of me. Regardless of the temperature, it lets me wake to warmth and comfort. If I need to get my head around the day it waits patiently, tranquil, for me to re-calibrate.
I can fall asleep on the sofa during the day to no repercussions; it’s irrelevant that there are different times and spaces in which I may seek comfort or respite. Crashing at a friend’s house doesn’t affect it – everyone in the world knows that nothing replaces their own bed. I can leave it for a day, week, month or year to sleep under the stars, to see the world, and it will still feel the same when I get back.
At the end of whatever kind of day, my bed offers peace. It doesn’t envelope me so I can’t move, but gives just enough to support me as I let down all the walls and process what I’ve learnt that day. It supports me just the same if I wail or giggle at the hours since I left it. It holds me whilst I work through things consciously and subconsciously. I know it can’t fix anything and don’t expect it to fix anything for me – that that’s up to me – but it’s comforting to know I can finish each day there.
I wonder if there’s a lesson in that…
Dream different dreams while on the same bed – Chinese proverb