My Tomb at Night

When we sleep we are not dead, nor are we truly alive. And I despise it.

To close my eyes each night and lose myself to the world as it continues on, going about its business without me, is a loss I cannot abide. Yet I have no choice. Our internal mechanics decree that without sleep, we cannot function as we should. Without these long hours lost to the dark din of senseless slumber, we simply will not be as we should be. It is known that the ‘typical’ person, one who gets roughly the necessary amount of sleep that the average person requires, will have slept for a quarter of a century by the time they turn seventy-five. A quarter of a century. That is twenty-five years of a life lost to chasing shadows in the night as our minds wander beyond sense and reason into a world nigh unfathomable to even the most logical minds.

Why?

Why must I strive to make the most of each and every day only to have to surrender myself to the forces of nature? The dolphin can get by with only allowing half of itself to sleep each day. The bullfrog can go for months at a time without it. Yet we must capitulate. If I were to stand tall and attempt to defy my natural state of being, my strength would fade, my mind would crumble and I would eventually come to embody the guise of someone bereft of life. A husk of a man devoid of spark. He who wanders the world holding his lantern low, dimly lit with a quiet wisp of candlelight. Without sleep we forfeit our capability, our sanity and even our lives.

There are many who welcome the rest. They who see their beds as a cradle of comfort, a chance to switch off and give in. To let the shroud of nightly dreams claim their minds each and every passing of the moon as they drift into worlds both strange and familiar. Their beds become their nests. An enticing embrace of warmth and wellbeing to close out the day. To me though, it is a tomb. Not of cold stones or lifeless bones but a tomb nonetheless. Each night I lie, motionless in the dark, waiting as my mind wanders pathways not chosen by me. Waiting for the sun to greet us all each morning, to ‘grace’ me with the permission to rise once more, to walk the world anew.

What do you dream of? I dream of never dreaming for my dreams offer me nothing, yet my waking thoughts give me everything.

I know that I need to sleep but I do not want it. Now or ever. It gives us our rest, at least when blessed enough to maintain it sufficiently, but it is also a loss of time, a loss of life. My time. My life. I am no longer a child gifted with countless years to come, able to waste my days in blissful ignorance of purpose. I am a man now and I desire to command my time as I see fit. My time, my life, has more meaning than that younger version of me could ever comprehend. He knew little of his resolve, his intent, and he had time to burn. I now know my purpose. I now know my desires, and I want my nightly hours, enshrouded in my wasteful tomb, for me.

Give back to me that which is taken. Give me the chance to trade away this need for sleep in exchange for a life truly fulfilled. There is no eternity for man or woman. Only the burning embers of a candle that grows dimmer each year.

I despise sleep. And it despises me. I will sleep when I die. Only then will I truly rest in peace.

Forged from Reverie.

Unlock Your Mind

I would like you to do me a favour please, if you would allow me to take a few minutes of your time? Pause what you are doing for a moment and go and put on some music, a single song of your choosing. It can be any song you wish, one of your all-time favourites or perhaps something you have never heard before and I would recommend that you do so alone if possible though if not, that’s fine. Whatever is comfortable for you.

Now close your eyes and shut the rest of the world out. Just stop, be still and listen to the song intently and wholeheartedly, as if nothing else exists except you and that song.

I’ll wait a bit whilst you play it. Remember to keep your eyes closed, breathe deep and let go of everything.

 

……………………….

 

Are you back yet? Excellent. I hope you enjoyed it. If you didn’t then why did you put something crap on?! If you accidentally listened to something wretched that just happened to pop up on the radio the you have my condolences but never mind. Try again if you need to. Hopefully you will be smiling by the end of the tune.

Now comes the great part. What ideas came to mind whilst you were listening to that song? A story, a scenario, an idea, a song of your own perhaps. What awoke within you? What sort of inspiration arose from that flicker of a whim that was born in your thoughts while you were letting the music encompass your mind?

Music can be a powerful tool to get the whims and woes of creativity into a state of overdrive, at least for me anyway, and I would be remiss if I did not share this potentially useful advice with you. It can be so easy to just let what we listen to seep into the background and become only a minor part of the larger whole of what we are trying to achieve. But if we just stop everything else and let ourselves act as if we are listening to music for the first time, as if it had never existed until that very moment, and just let it do to us what it has the potential to do – then you may be surprised at what is born within.

Let music be the key that unlocks your mind.

Forged From Reverie.

A Shackle for a Soulless Song

To call yourself a writer can be a troubling thing to one whose mind never relents. It can be a powerful sign of ones own acceptance, a belief that despite all of the doubts I may actually be able to write something of worth. If not worthy of anyone else’s time or attention, then at least worthy of my own ability to create something dear to me.

However, it can also be a leash around the neck that acts as a restraint to the flow of creativity that I feel best comes when it occurs naturally. Those ‘holy shit, that’s actually a good idea’ moments that can come at the most inconvenient of times. Thank bugger for notes!

If I am to refer to myself as a writer, I also need to remind  myself  every now and then that writing for the sake of writing, or progress for the sake of it, may only yield forced efforts at best or a gradual resentment to the craft at worst. I need to occasionally allow myself a breather from the voices in my head that demand that I give everything up to sit down and write, write, write, write, WRITE, WRITE!!

Sometimes it is okay to take some time and recharge the batteries. Rather than try to figure out who I am and what to do about every spare moment I get, sometimes it is alright to just stop and be still.

Sometimes.

Forged From Reverie.