I am so tired I am a philosopher.
This is the penultimate level of tired. We have finally made it to the twelfth strike of fatigue.This is where everything resides in the end. All of the sleepless nights that you thought were for nothing are now sleepless nights full of the wandering minds of great men. For great men, in their need for sleep, have often become wiser and greater men. History ought to thank the sleeplessness that we are often plagued with for creating the world in which we are submerged in now.When you are at this stage of tired you become like a philosopher, which is what my friend Sammi B, told me one day at school in the eighth grade. She told me she was so tired that she was a philosopher. A blunt statement that I think neither of you really realized the truth of for quite some time. When you really begin to think about it though, much of your own philosophy comes from those jagged but beautiful twilight insights. Out of you frustration at lack of sleep stems the knowledge of what things are, and the dreams of what they could be.It seems odd that something we associate with some much uselessness, lack of sleep, is able to produce deep and bright shining statements about the world, and beyond.It has often been for me , when I have been in this stage of tired, that I came to realize the beauty that glows within us all.I found my spirituality in the night, and the night daring to extinguish the flame of my self-destruction was only magnified through that spirituality… And so it became beautiful cycle of the night teaching me to live as I truly am, strive to reach enlightenment, and be the light. Through doing that and through the night itself I have learned to become a better person; To listen closer, to love harder, to shine brighter and to hold the whole world a little closer, to hug away the evil that tries to seep in.The night, especially when you reach this stage of tired, is no longer about the stress of not being able to sleep but becomes about the joy of seeing things the sun would blind you to seeing. There is something about the sweetness of the starlight and the softness of the moonlight that allows you into the secret realm of our universe, into the realm known to the few that keep there minds open– the poets– the philosophers– the dreamers–the insomniacs– the wife awake creators–the angelic minds of “What could be.”
I am so tired I am a philosopher, was pretty darn accurate.
-Wishing you the most wonderful woolgathering, Eva
” Me and the pen,we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”