Sleep
There's sleep, there's slumber, and there's a
coma, fit for gods! When you wake up, your head feels heavier, the
skin on your face hangs like dead flesh, and your chest tires from the
merest of action. There's a sleep that ages you. And when you wake
up, the world seems imposing, unfair, and uncomfortably silent, an odd
combination to be sure.
This is how Kumbhakarna must have felt,
waking up once every six months, or how Loki felt, being pushed into
the waking world after hundreds of lifetimes of punishment! Sleeping
Beauty and Rip Van Winkle must not have been afraid to face the world,
having already been tired of dreams. It's a glory less darkness, what
strangeness must that be. It's a dull brightness, and people wake up
to it from the dead, or is it from life itself? I often confuse.
Take time to consider the cruelty of sleep, silently ageing you,
killing the essence of your being, while you lie dreaming of better or
worse days, more interesting than the sweat drenched wetness, to be
sure. And we cannot help but fall asleep, or simply fall, we may never
know. We fall out of dreams, don't we? Quite literally. But we don't
fall into the lap of a slumber. We crawl into it, or, more accurately,
it traps you in, weaving itself around your unconsciousness in the
most terrifyingly deliberate manner possible. And, we welcome it,
because why not? Are we not doomed? Are we not the children of
narcissistic gods, alternately born of their image, their adultery or
simply their boons? Are we not fatalists of the most despicably idiotic
variety?
So sleep, my dear, and sleep you well...
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