“'Twas night, and all the world was lulled to rest.”
This is not true; for no real rest can be found when reason has not done the lulling. Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them; it merely changes the form of our worries. For even when we seek slumber, our sleepless moments are as harassing as the daytime.
Real tranquillity is the state reached by an unperverted mind when it is relaxed. Think of the unfortunate man who courts sleep by surrendering his spacious mansion to silence, who, that his ear may be disturbed by no sound, bids the whole retinue of his slaves be quiet and that whoever approaches him shall walk on tiptoe; he tosses from this side to that and seeks a fitful slumber amid his frettings!
He complains that he has heard sounds, when he has not heard them at all. The reason, you ask? His soul is in an uproar; it must be soothed, and its rebellious murmuring checked. You need not suppose that the soul is at peace when the body is still. Sometimes quiet means disquiet.
This is not true; for no real rest can be found when reason has not done the lulling. Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them; it merely changes the form of our worries. For even when we seek slumber, our sleepless moments are as harassing as the daytime.
Real tranquillity is the state reached by an unperverted mind when it is relaxed. Think of the unfortunate man who courts sleep by surrendering his spacious mansion to silence, who, that his ear may be disturbed by no sound, bids the whole retinue of his slaves be quiet and that whoever approaches him shall walk on tiptoe; he tosses from this side to that and seeks a fitful slumber amid his frettings!
He complains that he has heard sounds, when he has not heard them at all. The reason, you ask? His soul is in an uproar; it must be soothed, and its rebellious murmuring checked. You need not suppose that the soul is at peace when the body is still. Sometimes quiet means disquiet.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 56
I have often wondered why people automatically relate the nighttime to peace and quiet, when it can just as easily come to represent anxiety and fear to us.
After initially being afraid of shadows as a child, I do recall a brief period of adolescence when I looked forward to the calm of going to sleep in the dark. This did not last too long, however, because I once embarked on a foolish adventure that left me with a lasting aversion to the evening.
You see, I was desperately trying to convince a poor girl that I was worthy of her attention, and I somehow thought it would be a good idea to visit her many, many miles away.
By the time I arrived at her home out in the country, she was nowhere to be found. It was too late to do much of anything else, so I camped out in a large field across the road. Back then, I often carried a small knapsack with a few essential supplies.
Needless to say, this did not work out very well. A night breeze had never bothered me before, but now it cut like razor blades. Worst of all, I suddenly started noticing the incessant chirping of the crickets.
No, this had nothing to do with the wind or the insects, and it had everything to do with the fact that I was at the beginning of a mental breakdown. My state of mind was on edge for about the next four years, and those damned bugs become a symbol of what had become so messed up in my head.
To this day, I still have trouble sleeping when I hear crickets. It’s a shame, because I always enjoyed the open air, or at least a wide-open window, and now it has become a burden. And I did it all to myself!
In this regard, the troubled adult is little different than the scared child. Any sounds will take on a meaning from our vivid imaginations, and sometimes there are no actual sounds at all, only a memory of something deeply unpleasant casting a nasty illusion.
Some of us sadly know what it means for a silence to roar. It’s in our minds, not in our ears.
I have often wondered why people automatically relate the nighttime to peace and quiet, when it can just as easily come to represent anxiety and fear to us.
After initially being afraid of shadows as a child, I do recall a brief period of adolescence when I looked forward to the calm of going to sleep in the dark. This did not last too long, however, because I once embarked on a foolish adventure that left me with a lasting aversion to the evening.
You see, I was desperately trying to convince a poor girl that I was worthy of her attention, and I somehow thought it would be a good idea to visit her many, many miles away.
By the time I arrived at her home out in the country, she was nowhere to be found. It was too late to do much of anything else, so I camped out in a large field across the road. Back then, I often carried a small knapsack with a few essential supplies.
Needless to say, this did not work out very well. A night breeze had never bothered me before, but now it cut like razor blades. Worst of all, I suddenly started noticing the incessant chirping of the crickets.
No, this had nothing to do with the wind or the insects, and it had everything to do with the fact that I was at the beginning of a mental breakdown. My state of mind was on edge for about the next four years, and those damned bugs become a symbol of what had become so messed up in my head.
To this day, I still have trouble sleeping when I hear crickets. It’s a shame, because I always enjoyed the open air, or at least a wide-open window, and now it has become a burden. And I did it all to myself!
In this regard, the troubled adult is little different than the scared child. Any sounds will take on a meaning from our vivid imaginations, and sometimes there are no actual sounds at all, only a memory of something deeply unpleasant casting a nasty illusion.
Some of us sadly know what it means for a silence to roar. It’s in our minds, not in our ears.
—Reflection written in 5/2013
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