You must understand, Mr. Adamson, that to go to sleep is the single most profoundly fearful event for a child.
You cannot remember, Mr. Adamson, except by what you assume to be true by your observations of the world and of the human life that once you were an infant.
And when you were but an infant, and not Mr. Adamson, every day would come to an end and, in the evenings, you would feel the rein on your consciousness slip.
You couldn’t be certain, as little a baby boy, of what would happen if you let go of that leash, to let your mind slip, to let darkness take over your eyes – your daily visions because you did not understand that to go to sleep is to wake up in the morning continue. And not knowing, that sleep is just a natural part of the diurnal cycle to which we are subject having been products of Darwinian evolution on a planet – that which itself is regulated by 24 hour cycles with a single central star – you fell asleep every night with a fear of losing your consciousness that fear, not unlike, of death.
You were absolutely scared to go to sleep and you cried, but you cannot stop sleep just as you cannot stop time. So you fell asleep crying, and you dreamt only to awake suddenly, and miraculously, your life began all over again.
It’s only when you have spent thousands of nights of such tiny little mini-deaths, as an infant and a child, that you begin to recognize that it really is alright to go let go of your consciousness every night because, in the sum of your existence, you now have experienced those thousands of mornings in which you have experienced little tiny mini-rebirths.
You began to know and assume, you see, that tomorrow you would wake up and continue the narration of this thing called life. And when you did, you began to believe an implicit warranty given to you by an unknowable, unshakable force – a god of sorts.
And ten thousand nights have passed since those days, and you have forgotten what it was like to be a child fearful of this thing we simply call sleep because you have taken for granted those waking moments you first believed to be miracles given you by a higher power.
Today, you say you do not want to wake up, Mr. Adamson, because you drank last night and you are tired this morning. And you want to remain in a state of rest and sleep. And while you still lay in bed, hugging hangover between your arms like a pillow, you wish to remain in a state of limbo.
You must think, Mr. Adamson, there is a choice you must make. To wake or not to wake. You must remember what it is that you have forgotten. And invariably, you will come to the conclusions as I have, that we must find whatever it is that brought us here in the first place.