Midnight-The Witching Hour

“The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown-up was in a deep deep sleep, and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the world to themselves” (Roald Dahl, The BFG)

Sometimes, one lies awake and dreams. Lost in the whirlwind of thoughts. Metaphors become real.

Like when you're a little kid, and you, for the first time, contemplate the possibility of non-existence (death). “Mommy, what happens when you die? What's infinity?” The moment when you first realise nothing is certain, least of all the things that you hold dearest. Your flimsy little perspective is completely and utterly destroyed. A little bit of doubt creeps in. Thinking too hard, doubting reality.

The absolute absurdity of the sensations that tell me I'm alive is just too much. It's all so strange, this natural biochemical high of ours. So peculiar. I stare at my finger as I flex it. It moves, it moves! Ha ha, I made it do that! But I don't know how. I mean, the exact sequence of events is intricate and complex, but with a mere thought I set it all in motion, only aware dimly on one level of consciousness of what I am doing. Becoming aware of my unawareness. My brain objects. I cannot even comprehend how much I cannot comprehend. And then this (awareness) all simply ceases with death? Say it ain't so! Enter Religion. 'There is hope humanity. I promise you it will not end, there is life after death. There is a purpose to your speck like existence.'  Perhaps, perhaps, one can dream, but I do not believe.

Awake at Midnight. It is silent. I relish in all the petty joys and sorrows of the day. But the mundane is beautiful. It is wonderful. A smile, some tears, laughter, it's all good. I finally found myself again. Not quite sure how I ever did misplace myself, but stranger things have happened. At some point in life you can laugh about what once hurt. You begin to see the triviality of the melodrama, the hilarity of the plot, and the pettiness of the dialogue. Then you might finally get the punchline. Perhaps that sounds bitter but I mean it in a sincere and cheerful way. Be a happy speck. Not in the hedonistic sense that some seem to adopt, but in the sense of not adding unnecessary unhappiness to our little spot in the universe.

I love when the sunlight catches the dust in the air and you can see it floating around. It just whirls around in the air currents, drifting. Without meaning, but rather nice all the same.