Working like a horse but sleeping only five to six hours a night fills my lap with silence or hasty words. There is a transcendent worth we all want, but rarely inhabit. I don't bitch for not seeing it. I think it's up to me to open my eyes. But I dare say this only of my own experience, not yours. I sit here in recognition of a struggle in my consciousness between the power to seek, and apathy. The simple tragedy of mediocrity is that it begins in tepid apathy. I haven't read my books for a week and a half so I am blank. Apathy and lethargy are my gutter. I see juggernauts of beauty, persons of tremendous worth around me everyday. I do these a disservice in my inattentiveness to their availability, their temporal human presence. I feel regret at this, but not guilt. I know my limits. I can't always be fully present to those around me. But this tiredness, this simple lack of sleep, is a wall. Without rest we're bound to sloth, an ugly rest, my bane.
A life barely prayed is blind to others. O my peers, those of youthful vitality, we must not go on being so absorbed with ourselves. Our individualism, is incongruous with our redemption. Our narcissism is our nausea. To not seek, to not even care, might be death. This illness is a misappropriation of glory. That which is God's we steal for ourselves. O Prometheus! You are us! I can only write of these ugly things because I am them (I only recognize pride in others as much as it is present in me). We try to steal the gifts - our humanness- and from the first thieving moment begins our careers in cynicism. The skeptics tear to shreds the cogent, but do so by noble pursuit of the truth. A skeptic still wants to know. A cynic is merely shredding ideas and theologies, and maybe even people, for self satisfaction. My mom says you can't be a cynic and a Christian at the same time. I always believed her. I am not my own... I mean, my habits, and how I choose to live, really do affect my affections, especially when trying to live in community. And ultimately how I treat others reflects upon my worship of Jesus. Lack of sleep hurts others. Such a simple thing as turning the lights out is an act of Christian Service.
Comments (1)
Hear, hear.
No sleep
I haven't slept for a week
And I'm cold
Yeah, I'm so cold
She's right
I should do something with my life
But I'm old, I'm old
I'm getting old
Those eyes
She said they don't recognize me
Those lips
They never call out my name, my name, my name
It feels so heavy
It feels so heavy
Heavy
I'm waiting for a Saturday
I'm waiting for a Saturday
And I'm too young to be old
(From No Sleep by Sam Roberts)