Edith Piaff, the legendary French singer, as I mentioned earlier, used to sleep in a coffin. Though I wouldn’t like to do that literally — no wriggle room!– I have been doing it lately metaphorically. It is the tiny space, no larger than my body, a cell, a monk’s cell, a cell in a prison, a narrow, confined space, as in asylum or convent, a small, very humble abode. I find it hugely comforting, secure, holy, healing, calming. I return here often during the day, and have made it a habit to remember I have it. Remember, if you don’t know you have it, you don’t. It is a place where all the teeming, jostling ideas, feelings, dreams in my head find rest and I fall into a dreamless sleep while being awake.

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