I Can't Sleep.

I could hear the drip in the sink and tick of the clock on the wall. The combined sounds blasted through my sleepless soul. The glare from the alarm clock projected digital numbers that seemed to never change.

Some say to count sheep. Sheep doing what? Jumping? Running in a field? I thought of sheep and the sheep told me to go away because they were sleeping. Everyone seems to sleep. The fam...they sleep fine.

It seems like once or twice a month I get blasted with a dose of insomnia. My bout may be different than those that you have experienced. I go to sleep. But then about two hours into bliss. I awaken. My senses and my soul are fully engaged. Internally and mentally, I feel as if have awakened from a winter of slumber. But when it's barely past midnight, custom screams, "You have to go back to sleep."

That is the only thing that could drown out the drips and clicks of the faucet and the clock.

I get irrational. The more I try to sleep the harder it is to get to sleep.

I get diabolical. I press for answers. The less I find running the trails in my mind, the more I search. I get socio-pathic pressing in for even a few winks.

My only hope...or apparent hope is found in this formula, but this crap scares me.



So despite the commitment to run from the chemical compound, I choose to do just that. Run.

With my shoes tight and snug, I take off and run. There is something surreal about early morning...1 AM running. My feet still hurt.

I am not tired and sore.

Maybe tonight will be different.

Its 8:04 AM and I am ready for lunch.

jharp

My God Is Irish. At Least For Now...

I didn't set out to find the dirt that my heritage was planted in and reaped from. Instead, I just listened to the brogue in my pops voice when he would describe the stories of our family's arrival to the States.

Ireland was in total chaos. People were starving. The British had bummed rushed the small island, repeating history from previous invasions. Many Irish took up arms against their aggressors. Country men turned on each others.  Allegiances to religion, not God,  were formed.  Neighbors who once loved each other became suspicious of motive.  Infighting was pained.  Peace was silent.  Fighting was now inherited trait for most. Darkness was now seen as light. Light was now seen as darkness.  Down was up. Freedom would now come at the end of a brawl.

Some rose up and believing violence is all that would work. Two sides marched into battle, both under the cross. One side Catholic. One side Protestant.  Some were called terrorist.  Some were called freedom fighters.  Liberation or occupation?



Many Irish fled.

For those escaping, the Irish became the Irish-Americans. They flooded the East Coast.  Many settleded in the Five Points of New York City. Some said the hard working men and women allegiant to the Green & Orange offered the hands that built America.
                                          *****
Today my son asked if God was Irish. I said yes and smiled. He offered me a seven-year old's grin, and then launched into his best Irish impression.

"I am a Harper. I am Irish. My dad is Irish…" then he paused. Lifting both hands to heaven, similar to Moses on the mountain, he decried in continued brogue, "And My God is Irish."



Someday, I'll have to break it to him…but until then, let the little guy believe!  Until then Erin Go Braugh.

Hopeful despite myself,

Jas