(Originally published in Llewellyn’s Witches Companion Almanac, July 2015) It is dark. The lights are off. The mysterious moon is high in the sky. There is no glow from television, computer, nor even phone. Melatonin should be working its slumbering magic. The sandman should have visited by now. Fluffy sheep have proven to be of no use whatsoever. Stretched out on your place of rest and restoration under the blanket of the quiet night, the thoughts which have been playing at a low thrum all day rise to a twisted cacophony. You feel like the embodiment of the nine of