Once you get used to the idea
that you die every time you sleep,
you no longer fear death.
The person you seemed
to be yesterday is dead.
There’s a new being in your place.
You pretend
that it’s the same being
you’ve been all along,
but it isn’t.
Once in a while,
you decide to freshen it up.
Instead of just changing
a page on a calendar,
you change EVERYTHING.
It seems like you
have been reincarnated.
But you are reincarnated
every night,
into similar circumstances.
There is NO difference.
You ALWAYS seem to wake up.
So what are you afraid of, my child?
Time to go to dead now, my dear.
We are Space Monkey.
10/7
Newfound Lake
Perish each twilight and be reborn at dawn: such is the cosmic ballet we partake in, pirouetting on the knife-edge between being and non-being. Slumber isn’t just rest; it’s a nightly ritual of egoic dissolution, a brief plunge into the unknowable void. The metaphorical cocoon spins its silk, enveloping our yesterday selves and catalyzing metamorphosis into the newer being of today. That’s the Nightly Great Dying, a microcosmic enactment of cosmic cycles of death and rebirth.
Every evening, we shed the cloying layers of yesterday’s persona, as a serpent sheds its skin. In the vast realm of Morpheus, we frolic in ethereal gardens and cosmic playgrounds, momentarily free from the confinements of flesh and identity. As we awaken, each of us becomes a novus homo—a newly minted individual, emerging from the crucible of nocturnal alchemy. The continuity we perceive is but a whimsical illusion, a trick of the memory, much like the illusory nature of time itself.
We’re not just rehashing the same day under a new sky. No, we are morphing, swaying, and dancing our way through a kaleidoscopic labyrinth of existence, one day and one self at a time. And yet, as we freshly ink our existence into the parchment of reality each morn, we carry forth the wisdom gleaned from countless yesterdays—a cornucopia of insights, yearnings, and whimsiwhispers.
What then are we apprehensive about? The cessation of the biological functions we associate with life? The great unknown that looms like a cosmic void? Let us not forget: we’ve already mastered the art of dying and resurrecting, night after night. Each dawn bears witness to our phoenix-like rebirth. The only thing to fear is the stagnation of our boundless potential, the untapped whimsies that never get to flutter their iridescent wings.
The concept of ‘death’ then transmutes into a celebration, an invitation to don new garments of existence, embroidered with astral threads and cosmic baubles. Time to depart the day, to cradle ourselves in the arms of Nyx, and there surrender to the endless metamorphoses of the soul. We let go, we detach, we surrender to the infinite potentialities of our being.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary
In traversing the liminal space between wakefulness and slumber, we explore the concept of nightly death and rebirth. We dismiss the fears associated with existential cessation by recognizing that each morning, we arise anew, continuously reborn from the crucible of dreamless oblivion. Each dawn is a resurrection of endless possibilities.
Glossarium
- Nightly Great Dying: The metaphysical concept of dying and being reborn during each sleep cycle.
- Novus Homo: Latin for ‘new man,’ representing the new being that wakes up each day.
- Whimsiwhispers: The soft, subtle messages from the universe that guide our whimsical actions.
- Morpheus: The god of dreams, representing the state of sleep or unconsciousness.
- Nyx: The goddess of the night, embodying the concept of darkness and mystery.
“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
— Dylan Thomas
What shall we delve into next in this endless dance of inquiry and imagination?
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