Sleeping In

Play.

Imagine not being able to sleep. Your body  relentlessly attempts to force you to shut your eyes. But what if you don’t want to sleep, in fear of not being able to dream.  Where would guidance come from? You sank so low that being stuck between dreaming and reality is a sense of accomplishment. The teacher suffered from such a disease. Wandering the silent hallways of his home, stopping at the kitchen to stare blankly at the fridge. Maybe something had magically appeared inside since the last time he checked it. He stared blankly, his eyes felt heavy. Black and blue hues encircled his eye socket, he could no longer focus clearly. His body was degrading, once a marathon runner, he now could barely walk up the stairs without feeling breathless.

He didn’t know what was happening to him, it was a mix of depression and the consequence when one abuses living. Even his sibling’s deaths had not pushed him to such a state. At least they were dead, he was wandering through life without living. Shackled to a prison with no walls and no cells.

Waking up in the afternoon, sitting down on the same old white desk as the unwavering black eyes of his students gazed at him. How could he offer advice? How could he be a beacon of hope for potential people.

Arriving back home, not paying attention to his own children, his wife was lightly pushed aside as she came to hug him. He was walking to his room but it seemed more of a crawl. His hands flailed in front of him, he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to lie on his bed and be certain of one thing. That he was in fact lying down.

He was well educated, knew a little too much. Information caused him to analyze everything. He shut his eyes, existence rushed through it. Matter rushed through it. Every single piece of information that he had ever set his eyes on materialized in his brain. How does God do this?

PAUSE.

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