the first insomnia

I had trouble sleeping. There is indeed a certain weight of sleep. Kind of like a duty or responsibility. Something one is supposed to do. It’s odd how real this construction is- the supposing- even though it really only is a result of clumsiness, fear and miscommunication. The parent is herself quite possibly not exactly clear about the functioning of things and the underlying logic of directions. And, to be sure, they generally assume the child could not be let in to purpose, even if some understanding of it existed. Social or political thinkers would think power- at least out in the world, discouraging explanations, sometimes through incoherent action, are ways of asserting it. Even though power freaks really could be just that- freaks. But the question to their success persists. Even if, then again, in most likelihood, this usually happens mechanically, and if anything, the parent masks the fact that they’re completely clueless behind it. So maybe it’s just the fact that we need a bubble…a bubble is always better than no bubble.

Then there is the assumption that the child would not understand, or at least, a great anxiety toward how to communicate with them, about what or who they are, and how they might turn out. I at least watched this. Fear of the child – what after some reflection (or through psycho-therapeutic strategies) may translate into fear of responsibility and motherhood.

I went out on a limb. Because saying you have trouble doing something does to some extent imply that you should be doing it. Either way, I stayed awake. The strangest thing at the beginning of life is itself….existence. Especially because you die. And absence is something just as real. It really happens. So if two things happen in parallel, irrespective of the fact that they’re subsequent in time, one should be able to conceive them. A time when I was not with a time when I was. As after all, past and present are always contemporary. If it were impossible for us to conceive the past, we’d be completely stuck. But somehow, in this particular instance, I found it hard- I found my being alive a little bit strange, I tried to somehow focus, listened to myself breathe, I was there, what the fuck was I doing really. My absence was very real, almost like a personal memory. I had this odd feeling that I remembered something, the time before. And I could relate to an image of birth like a sudden unwanted awakening. An accident. Like opening the wrong door in a hotel. Let me sleep.

Strangely, I think I managed to create a strong image. A frightening one to some extent. But I think I’m on to something. And it isn’t spiritual. It’s “social” or “human”.


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