Sleep, Monsters, and Salvation
Getting to sleep hasn’t really been a problem for me since I was a child. While some people are forced to take Ambien or other such medications, I’ve always shied away from them. I did once take Ambien. A few years ago, I visited Carilion’s
I don’t dream when I sleep. At least I haven’t remembered any dreams I’ve had for many years now except for a couple I had last week. In one of the two dreams I remember from last week (I’ve already forgotten the other), my father-in-law, Jack, who passed away in April came down from Heaven to visit me. He looked a lot happier than the last time I saw him. He was bathed in a golden glow and wore an eternal smile. He told me that I needed to gather my family together spiritually and prepare for the end times. As he unveiled his revelations, his face was absolutely beaming with joy. His words immediately put me into a reflective and repentant mood. I began recounting all of the ways I’ve failed my God; this was more than a session in the confessional with a priest where I boldly confessed that I had “fought with my brothers and sisters” and “had taken the Lord’s name in vain three times.” No, this was a complete soul-searching reflection and intense confession. For at least three hours, I examined every corner of my life. All of my character flaws, personal failures, and unrepentant crimes passed before me like a horrific movie. Ebenezer had it easy compared to my journey into the recesses of my darker side. I left that dream shaken and exhausted; completely spent.
Back when I was a kid, sleeping was an exhaustive process for me. More correctly, the act of falling asleep was something I feared. I was afraid of what lived under my bed, what monsters were in the shoe closet, what horrible disfigured creatures resided behind the attic door next to my bed. I knew that poisonous vipers patrolled the nighttime floor waiting to inject me with deadly venom if I so much as dropped a toe over the edge of the bed. Spiders ruled the walls and the mysterious corners where walls met ceiling. The house, itself, was possessed by strange spirits, I believed. It made unexpected creaking sounds and moans. I was convinced that some tortured soul, now trapped in perpetual torment, perished in my bedroom at the hand of some fiendish ghoul. More than anything else, I was afraid that I’d fall asleep and never awaken. Death frightened me beyond any fear in life itself. I fought closing my eyes and spent many nights simply repeating over and over to myself, “I will wake up. I will wake up.” Darkness was the breeding ground of my fears, and only the light could comfort me. Well, only the light and a small transistor radio playing the latest top 40 hits from under my pillow.
The best kind of sleep is the blank kind of sleep. Close your eyes, chase the monsters away, and wake up a moment later after seven or eight hours have passed. It’s not fraught with drama. It’s just refreshingly empty. Sleep.
2 comments:
My younger son used to worry about the creatures under his bed. My wife, in an effort to ease his fears looked under his bed and said, "There's nothing under here but dust bunnies." At which point he started jumping up and down on his bed screaming "I told you there was something down there!"
Sounds about right. That's what I would have said, too!
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