Still of the Night

The morning sunlight scatters softly through the closed window blinds, painting horizontal lines of shadows on the opposite wall. Figuring from the fuss downstairs, the family is already awake in the middle of their morning routines. Their voices gently pull one out from the sweet ecstasy of dreamless sleep.

Waking up feels particularly difficult this morning. There's no apparent reason one was awake most of the night—no stress, no anxiety, no worries, and simply no sleep. Fading memories of the long, sleepless night hours echo in the weary valleys of the mind. Echoes of the daughters occasionally turning in their beds, the wife's steady breathing, and the dog changing his spot many times during the night. Echoes of a distant humming of a car breaking the silence, slowly fading into the same silence from where it emerged. Only after long hours of lying silently in bed did sleep allow itself to come.

Even though getting a good night's sleep is crucial for well-being, something profoundly beautiful can be observed in the stillness of the sleepless night. The idea that almost everyone is asleep in this corner of the planet is deeply soothing. No human interference. No relationships to give attention to. No expectations to rise up to and no requirements to meet. No getting ahead of oneself while trying to catch oneself. Everything is blissfully empty yet teeming with one's own being.

Thoughts arise now and then within that being, some of them quite persistent. Yet, when thoughts are not given attention, they flow away down the river of silence from whence they originally appeared. Once they do, the absence of all psychological apparitions is amazing. The primordial stillness, which cannot be known in the endless vortices of thoughts, is evident in that absence. It's curious how this stillness is sometimes so quickly engulfed by human interference in the hustle and fuss of everyday life.

Despite the mind and body are weary from too little sleep this morning, the familiar sense of stillness is undeniably present. It shines in the light through the window blinds, dances in the shadow-lined wall, moves with every single breath, and informs its presence in the soft tingling in the fingertips. The stillness explodes into a rainbow monotonous beeping of the alarm clock.

One stops the alarm and waits a few minutes before getting up. Even when preparing for another day of human interference, the stillness is very present. It's not going anywhere. It never does. The knowing draws a subtle smile on one's face.

Time to prepare the daughters for school.

Time to get to work.