September 17, 2000: Paying my dues

I don’t like to sleep. I can’t! I’m up all night analyzing every dream. They’re too vivid—it’s as if I’m really there. It doesn’t matter how hot the house is I freeze all night. Even while I write, I’m covered with a blanket. It’s as if I’m sleeping forever on a cold unloved highway. Like the birds I stop to peel off the road, then bury nearby. It’s as if the Great Mystery has whispered into my ear, “You will take care of the path of all shaman in transformation. You will listen to the wind, locating their place of continued growth—bring to them a napping horizon. For this…I give you nothing. For yourself…you locate true love.”