“There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience”
–French proverb

My pillow is a destination. At the top of my bed, there is a base, a place where I go to check-in on myself. Within the two softness of the rectangle lay the area for the silent confession.

The pillow is one of the many comforts that have been afforded to me that exists only to make my life a little bit easier, to make me a bit more spoiled, to give me a bit more cush.

My pillow has been a symbol of comfort, a world of chaos, an ocean of confusion, and an alter of gratitude. I can think of few things less agonizing than trying to sleep on a pillow of regret, fear, and angst. I can bring to mind nothing more pleasurable than lying down on a pillow of contentment after putting forth a day of effort; a day that included my best effort, the best that I knew how to do.

My pillow is the daily conduct card that I was required to get signed as a child.

There is no time throughout my day when I can provide myself more accurate inventory of how I am performing as a father, husband, brother, son, and friend then those first few moments on the softness of the cotton block each night. Am I using it for shelter from the artillery, shielding from the storm, or a cloak for which to be invisible? Or is it a home-base, a resting place, an end-point, a rest stop where I am allowed to re-fuel and reward myself with good thoughts and sweet dreams after a job well-done.

I can learn a lot about myself by the first few minutes on my pillow.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related,