(Try something like this when going to sleep, perhaps.)
Sprawl out as much as you like, stretching yourself across the surface you’re lying on. Feel the weight of your body, the exhaustion of falling to earth, the exhaustion of earth, falling.
Feel his own collapse like it is your own, for earth has fallen from heaven and lies beneath her. His weariness is immense, as he lies, sprawled, stretched out and flattened by fatigue. He is spent in every way, exhausted from his separation, sexually spent, dormant.
Your body sprawled against the earth is like the tumbled mass of a mountain, the great roots of a tree. You are of one essence, and you share that great weariness, the sleepy weight of the day. Sink into the horizon, the space between day and night, matter and spirit, wakefulness and dream.
As you touch sleep, feel the deep water beneath, the hidden depths of the exhausted earth. Feel how it stirs, how it moves as water will move. Feel the sap run, the yearning of earth for heaven, the way each tree rises into the void to try to touch her, each anthill and each mountain range fills with life, the restoration of a connection that is now held in dream.
Rest. Want. Be.
You are here.