Sleep

Slayer of Awake

Sunset sees him stir This furtive and ruthless slayer of Awake: Sleep

Sleep: he’s such a not-at-all-what-we-need.

Sleep is a topic/fact that is taken so for granted as “natural” that we usually don’t give it a first, much less a second, thought. I mean, without sleep, we die, right? Scientific fact, no? What’s there not to know?

I have though, given sleep both first, second, and third thoughts over the years, and some of these reflections are captured quite well in a song that I wrote years ago called, yes, “Sleep” (the slayer of Awake).

Here are the lyrics:

Sleep Why do we take him for granted and close our eyes when the night appears Why do we furl like enchanted little pawns when his darkness nears Why do we welcome this beast what provisions were made that we would find him fair find him true find him waiting find him soothing Why do we take him for granted when he unearths what we have planted Why do we gladly embrace him his dark within dark within tender fingers Why do we long for his touch what arrangement was made that he would ease our pain steal our hearts find us yawning find us yielding Why is sleep such a well of darkness what does his silence entail why should I just give up my day to these hands of things forgotten Why is sleep such a hollow shadow of all that we pray for and love why do we eagerly all let go of the things we know He’s part of life he’s part of us it’s been forever that he’s been with us But parts of me refuse to see and I’ll just wait here for some changes I’ll just wait until those changes come Why do we take him for granted I can see no earthly good he does Wilting and nearly unplanted we still look to him to comfort us Why do we harbor such death why do we cede while his sleigh of silence tears and pulls all asunder in the guise of peaceful slumber Why is sleep such a mystic nothing such a not at all what we need should we all just concede and pray we will wake up where we parted Why is sleep such a common thief such a leech on all that we dream why do we bow to him and let go of the day we know He’s part of life he’s part of us it’s been forever that he’s been with us But parts of me refuse to see so I’ll just wait here for some changes I’ll just wait here for those changes

I find it not a little suspicious that sleep (this strange state of comatose) should be such an absolute must, such a necessity, and I have done so for most of my life.

I can remember of a late evening, musing about this and that and writing down and tasting my thoughts about it as they sauntered here and there and then finally hit upon something that surged up and rose up as huge, meaningful, as paradigm-shifting, as oh, my Lord, oh, my Lord, as I sped to trace, with my pen, the stream of thought that had led me there.

Still humming with feeling, I finally put notebook and pen aside, and turning out the light, I would lie in the midnight dusk of Swedish summer, still savoring the feeling, the perceived truth, the wonderful, near magical insight about whatever I had pursued that evening. And then, finally, still smiling, I’d fall asleep.

And I slept.

And I awoke.

Only to find my feeling, that heavenly conviction lost in the new morning light — after a night of sleep-washing/censoring. Yes, the words were still there, scrawled in my notebook, but that acute feeling of wonder and amazement, the joy of discovery, of seeing, of realizing, seemed to have evaporated: Sleep, the ever-vigilant, ever-efficient slayer of Awake, had seen to that.

I sometimes — quite often actually — get the feeling that Sleep was/is intended to keep us good and ignorant (as in stupid) about our situation here on earth and about our fates.

Sleep seems guaranteed to settle your freshly shifted paradigms right back to where they belong: in the “natural” rut of life, as it were.

I, for one, sense an Engineer somewhere behind the scenes.

Some Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs hiding (and maneuvering) behind the curtain. I bet you we’d find him there if only we had the strength and the courage of Dorothy (and could stay awake long enough) to look.

© Wolfstuff