There is a time between being awake and sleeping that is supposed to be reflective and relaxing. Your mind slips out from under the leash that restrains all the madness during the day and it frollicks with the self that doesn’t care, that’s connected to the universe intimately and unafraid. No one is immune to experiencing all that goes along with those precious, revealing moments. I try, though, to avoid them as much as possible lately. If I exhaust myself all day with mindless crap, I might be able to slide into sleep effortlessly. Occasionally, I succeed. Most nights I just fall apart as my madness becomes me.
There is a concept in math that describes the number zero as the balancing point between all the negative and positive values. The whole of infinity culminating in a single point of balance so perfect all values are absorbed and united together. Imagine a number line stretching in both directions as far as you could imagine being rolled up so tightly it becomes a tiny, solid ball. That is the magic number of zero.
I try to stay in zero all day. Emotions, thoughts, ideas, fears, and angers are meaningless if they are all just the same single thing easily pushed aside as I do the daily things that must be done. My mind quickly stuffs the memories, the hopes for the future, and the responsibilities into that thing without ever letting me dwell on it. When sleep comes, the subconscious comes screaming to the surface refusing to deny anything. I force myself to feel everything at warp speed. My body screams for sleep and my mind tells me logically I really need more sleep but my heart will allow no such thing.
It’s a sort of madness I feel we all must face. Not just in the form of grief but in those life moments that refuse to let go of us, traumas and becomings. Lewis Carroll suddenly makes way more sense. Wonderland is the inner world we inhabit but rarely really look at. We all must loose our refined masks of society to find the raw and crazy inner core. The real test of sanity is not whether we come back to our mask but whether we accept the core we see as ourselves or just a mad reflection. I’m pretty sure I have fallen down the rabbit hole. I don’t like what I see. I don’t like who I seem to be. Remaining mad isn’t an option; I don’t like the incomplete mask I wear for society. So, where do I go? Who do I become from here?