I awoke this morning to blessings. Beautiful, rich bell-tone voices singing on the radio – the voices of Ugandans. Jewish Ugandans, imagine that. They were singing sacred blessings into my ear, while Tosca kitty purred at my feet. I love CBC Radio One, and Errol Nazareth for giving me mornings like this.

I’ve been sleeping so beautifully lately. It’s such a treat for me; I’m barely exaggerating when I say that I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep for the last twelve months. Insomnia is such a cruel, lonely thing. Everything is worse at night. Small stresses and this month’s bills lurk in the corners of my mind, waiting to pounce in the middle of the night. And pounce they do, sometimes leaving marks on my face. I can see them under my eyes in the morning. Sluggish, accident-prone, and marked, I stumbled outside each day to walk for an hour, or two, or three, marching to a beat of “maybe I’ll sleep tonight maybe I’ll sleep tonight maybe I’ll sleep tonight.”

“Count sheep, breath deeply, go lie on the couch, read a book, keep a journal…” It’s sound advice from the clear-eyed sleepers, from those whose minds are filled with dreams, not monsters in the middle of the night.

But lately, I’ve been sleeping. Beautifully. When my eyes open now, it’s because the music on the radio told them to. And if that isn’t sweet enough, this morning I awoke to blessings.