Ode to Sleeplessness

By Amaya Gayle Gregory

I sleep well most nights. This is something relatively new for me. For many years, I was a raging insomniac. I didn’t sleep well last night and found myself meditating around 4am, not so much to get to sleep but for something to pass the time. Sitting there, my pillow tucked behind my back, and another pulled up in front, I asked, what wants to be seen?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Oh well, guess I’m awake tonight.

And then … there’s always ‘and then’ in my world … this morning I saw it and it made so much sense that I had to look twice. Things in my world rarely make sense. I think this one had been stewing my entire life.

Yesterday I was puzzling something, trying to figure out why I allowed a very nice person, at least on the surface, to be demanding and what if anything I should do about it. A friend was here, and he tends to be a little less understanding than me, read that as super direct. He was in the middle of an inner spat and had a need to vent.

The combination was deadly to my sleep. The character called Amaya got caught up in the drama. It happens to dream characters, to what most would call the me. For most of us, the drama is life.

Here, in my part of the story, it doesn’t happen often anymore, doesn’t last long when it does, and generally offers interesting tidbits of insight into the unraveling personality when it’s done sucking me in. I am constantly amazed at how much there is to unravels when story land loses its power, when the world has been seen as a precious ruse.

The personality thinks, wow, just do it, strip me bare, for god’s sake get it over with, but This has its own timing. Reveals are queued up within and don’t just blurt out the instant life loses its solidity. Said another way, what the me wants has nothing to do with how fast or slow it unfolds.

Withholding love, which is what I was doing, has a price.

Sleeplessness is just one of those prices. Spinning in mind trying to justify not engaging, not speaking, not acting in accord with one’s inner voice, is withholding love, not just from the apparent other but from the apparent self. We are not two, so it’s impossible to do something that targets another, but even in the story, withholding is felt by everyone in the immediate circle of impact.

Does that mean nothing changes, that nothing is said or done, that the status quo is left intact?

Absolutely not. It just means that I don’t need to spin around trying to figure it out. It doesn’t work. It never has. I’m going to do what I’m going to do anyway. It may be adopting a wait and see attitude. It may be confronting the situation. It may be letting it go, really gone, or just wishfully gone.

When it is time to act, acting will take place and it’s more likely to take place sooner rather than later when I’m not caught in the drama because drama is murky. There’s little clarity in drama. It has its own weather system.

It’s not bad or right to be a venting ground. I can be a venting ground (it can be a loving act) without side effect when I realize that’s what is happening. Awareness is a demanding master. It asks for everything and when it doesn’t get it, there is always an ‘and then’ to see. It happens. It’s life. Thats how This works. It’s a mirror. Each experience adds to the living instantly adapting blueprint. When I unequivocally see that getting drawn into the story doesn’t help anyone, doesn’t allow a clean vent, and that venters need to be seen and heard, the story changes.

It seems crazy, but the story changes itself through its own stories. Life’s a perpetual change machine.

I love sleepless nights. They are so informative when I am open and willing to see. Even that willingness and openness is part of the story and subject to constant change. Isn’t that awesome?!

Like this and want more? An in-depth deconstruction of all the stories that keep us awake? Check out my latest book, Actuality: infinity at play https://amzn.to/3Rd4CTY