I love to sleep. My life tends to fall apart when I’m awake, you know? I can sleep anywhere and the next minute I am reborn. This tendency to become Rip Van Winkle may seem like a bizarre activity. Imagine, for the next several hours, while the sun is gone you become unconscious and temporarily losing command over everything you know and understand. No tiresome small talk or tiptoeing around for charged topics. The naked truth is that the next day when the sun returns, you will resume and regenerate.
Yet, there are times when people I know find it difficult to sleep peacefully. Perhaps they have too much on their mind or little monsters of worry are closing in on the floorboard of their brain. Sometimes restless dreams can pollute a peaceful sleep routine. In these situations, you may wake up drowsy or unaffected but energized. If only I could understand the dynamics of your mind. I say openly that it is such a joy to sleep profoundly, desperately, greedily, as though for the last time, as though condemned to stay awake forever and now you have to drink in all the sleep in the world during these last hours.
If you can’t crave the sweet surrender of sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there and counting sheep. Perhaps a riveting novel but refrain from using the technological tools. Even though I know that no book worth its salt is meant to put you to sleep, it’s meant to make you jump out of your bed in your underwear and think about its contents. Have you noticed that when asleep, the person you love looks a lot younger than going-on-seventeen and so carefree? Sleep makes you look so innocent and worthy of protection.
I have never met an elegant sleeper and nothing pleases me more than talking to an insomniac. “Sophie B Hawkins” song and the lyrics state that “as I lay me down to sleep, I pray that you will hold me, dear”.
I start wanting to research the rest of her songwriting process and again sleep threatens to evade. They say before you sleep, read something exquisite, and worth remembering. In some cases, I am looking at my reflection, in the imaginary mirror above me and unequivocally drifting into a peaceful slumber.
But there’s always “the whistle of a train on a summer evening” to keep me awake.