I do it but the clever fish are ever in battle with me, and so far all but one have eluded capture, one escaped by the skin of it teeth. Yes, I think you might like it, good time for reflecting.
I agree. Really? How lovely. : D
A good way to put it. Grand. : D
It's something I'm still learning to balance. But I'm getting there. I get some of those ideas and feelings.
Hence the slight. But acquiesced.
Ah, makes sense. The only complication for me would be all my friends and family still being not nocturnal. And my animals I suppose.
So catch and release or dinner? How long have you been fishing? It sounds like a regular practice.
You know what makes the night special to me? It is holy. The word "holy" in English comes from the ancient word for "whole", but that's not really what "holy" means or how people use the word. Our understanding of the word "holy" comes from the hundreds of years of use from the King James Translation, which does has its translation errors and its Old English to overcome. The word "holy" in the Bible (and how it has so strongly influenced Western thinking and language) means "separate, or separated for special use". For me, the night is "separate". It's not a part of the busy day, noisy evenings, crowded mornings. It is apart from every other time. The lighting doesn't change till dawn. The night grows quieter and quieter, cooler, finer and deeper as the hours pass. It is as if the whole world turns into a pool of cool silence and peace. It is mysterious (a word meaning "hidden secret, hidden to be found), and pure. It is more whole than the day, stronger.
It was going to be dinner I think but we took pity on it. XD Emm, a coupla years. Not professionally, it's one of those things you don't have to do all the time.
Very interesting! I suppose that explains why I have trouble sleeping sometimes, I don't like to feel alone of cut off, in the opposite to what you enjoy.
So catch and release or dinner? How long have you been fishing? It sounds like a regular practice.
You know what makes the night special to me? It is holy. The word "holy" in English comes from the ancient word for "whole", but that's not really what "holy" means or how people use the word. Our understanding of the word "holy" comes from the hundreds of years of use from the King James Translation, which does has its translation errors and its Old English to overcome. The word "holy" in the Bible (and how it has so strongly influenced Western thinking and language) means "separate, or separated for special use". For me, the night is "separate". It's not a part of the busy day, noisy evenings, crowded mornings. It is apart from every other time. The lighting doesn't change till dawn. The night grows quieter and quieter, cooler, finer and deeper as the hours pass. It is as if the whole world turns into a pool of cool silence and peace. It is mysterious (a word meaning "hidden secret, hidden to be found), and pure. It is more whole than the day, stronger.
It was going to be dinner I think but we took pity on it. XD Emm, a coupla years. Not professionally, it's one of those things you don't have to do all the time.
Very interesting! I suppose that explains why I have trouble sleeping sometimes, I don't like to feel alone of cut off, in the opposite to what you enjoy. :p
Hmm, it's just that fishing isn't something that everyone does and I was curious about your story/stories on it.
So you find fulfillment in socially engaging with others and nocturnal living separates you from others? You just like the creative boost of nighttime consciousness?
Sometimes, but not often and not as often as it used to be, I would have trouble sleeping just because I didn't want to fall asleep. Falling asleep, falling into blackness that wouldn't mean anything, was almost dreadful in a kind of way. It felt like giving-up, almost like missing out in something not really there. Just myself and 6-8 hours of darkness and nothing, so much nothing... I could practically spend the night traveling the world over with books and music, photography and hobbies, pointless rummaging, humming or light singing, staring at the cream colored wall or feeling the texture of the blankets against my fingers, but to sleep was to be nothing. Maybe it was because I'd philosophize about sleep too much and poke holes through it. Why sleep? Why do humans sleep? What about the hours, nay, years that disappear under sleep. Who watches the moon when it is at its ripest in the wee hours? Who am I at 3 A.M.? I almost believed that if I stayed up late enough, something special might happen; a thought, a clue, a hope. I wanted to stay up really late and listen to long albums, read poetry at hours I never read poetry before, cut the blackness of midnight with a tiny song and put the patches of it in my pocket. There weren't any stars to reach out to, not in the city that kills stars with artificial light, the kind that only attract vermin insects. But there was something, something beautiful to catch in the net of my heart, so I believed. And to be caught by the net of sleep, to be caught in the black deep of sleep, caught and released each morning as though sleep were a kind of accident and it wasn't mercy that released me from never waking-up but the grace of correcting a mistake.... it was awful to sleep.
I'd indulge in not sleeping. If I went to bed late and fell into the numbing slumber quickly, I wouldn't dream of anything. I swing between avoiding dreams and trying to force them to come, as though dreams were people I disliked but couldn't avoid because they were the only ones who could make me smile. I could dissolve into numbness and dream nothing, or go to bed early and doze the last couple hours of sleep and have fields of mismatched dreams like the squares of a quilt. I'd live on the sweetness of a good dream for a long time, like a bee winters with a hexagon of honey. I could wake-up smiling and mumbling poetry I'd never heard before, secret poetry about myself. Wake-up with the sweetness of life on my lips, or the triumph of a great mountain climb burning in my soul. Wake-up with tears streaming down my face at the death of friends I'd never known and the love of people I'd never seen before...
I had a few more large paragraphs, but decided to delete them suddenly realizing I was talking too much... no.... I'm rambling on and on about sleeping. How silly of me.
It was going to be dinner I think but we took pity on it. XD Emm, a coupla years. Not professionally, it's one of those things you don't have to do all the time.
Very interesting! I suppose that explains why I have trouble sleeping sometimes, I don't like to feel alone of cut off, in the opposite to what you enjoy.
Hmm, it's just that fishing isn't something that everyone does and I was curious about your story/stories on it.
So you find fulfillment in socially engaging with others and nocturnal living separates you from others? You just like the creative boost of nighttime consciousness?
Sometimes, but not often and not as often as it used to be, I would have trouble sleeping just because I didn't want to fall asleep. Falling asleep, falling into blackness that wouldn't mean anything, was almost dreadful in a kind of way. It felt like giving-up, almost like missing out in something not really there. Just myself and 6-8 hours of darkness and nothing, so much nothing... I could practically spend the night traveling the world over with books and music, photography and hobbies, pointless rummaging, humming or light singing, staring at the cream colored wall or feeling the texture of the blankets against my fingers, but to sleep was to be nothing. Maybe it was because I'd philosophize about sleep too much and poke holes through it. Why sleep? Why do humans sleep? What about the hours, nay, years that disappear under sleep. Who watches the moon when it is at its ripest in the wee hours? Who am I at 3 A.M.? I almost believed that if I stayed up late enough, something special might happen; a thought, a clue, a hope. I wanted to stay up really late and listen to long albums, read poetry at hours I never read poetry before, cut the blackness of midnight with a tiny song and put the patches of it in my pocket. There weren't any stars to reach out to, not in the city that kills stars with artificial light, the kind that only attract vermin insects. But there was something, something beautiful to catch in the net of my heart, so I believed. And to be caught by the net of sleep, to be caught in the black deep of sleep, caught and released each morning as though sleep were a kind of accident and it wasn't mercy that released me from never waking-up but the grace of correcting a mistake.... it was awful to sleep.
Continued in next post…
True true, I find it kind of relaxing, so I do it when I can. I think I first started at a friend of my parent's house, they had a pond and poles and minnows. Good times.
Right, I'm a people person in general, so I would have trouble with being so seperated. And yes to that as well. Though night in of itself is a beautiful thing, I love stars.
You have an interesting mind, very new and different. You like to learn a lot too.
No, go on. I don't mind. I may not be able to match your thought processing and output but I like to read it.
O_o And I thought he was a nice dragon. No, IRL. If an online friend found it I'd be kind of scared.
So you thought, but really, all those times he was just sitting on the bed and desk looking so innocent he was really evil. It was all a lie! Oh lol. Speaking of which let's talk about your college, does it start with M? Four words seperated into two groups by a - ?
Dragons really are the agents of the devil. Nope, all wrong.