Sometimes before I turn out the light I ask Siri to tell me a joke. A part of my mind sneers at this, that I would turn to an artificial intelligence for company or solace. But the better part of me defends my little habit. It’s a random bit of self-care, virtual company as I whistle past the graveyard. Being alone at the close of the day brings up a sort of primordial fear in me: perhaps I’m afraid of being unconscious, unaware and undefended. That fear is something shadowy, lurking around the edges of my consciousness and nibbling at my sanity. It’s almost embarrassing to think about, but I am afraid of going to sleep. Or perhaps I fear the release that precedes slumber, the letting go of all the day’s plans and hopes and little failings.
Letting go means looking hard at the illusion of control. Although I may believe I have some control over other people, places and things, that’s usually false. I really only control what’s inside my hula hoop. When I do a tenth step at bedtime, it helps me sort out what bits of my day I actually had under my control. I have health problems, and sometimes those twist my day out of shape. But I have no control over my cancer, its symptoms and the side effects of my treatment. When I continue “...to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it,” it gives me a way to catalog my day, accept responsibility for my shortcomings, and let go of the rest.
Maybe it’s my expectations deviling me at bedtime. Perhaps I’m just clinging onto every day, unsure that there will be another. These are more manifestations of my inability – or unwillingness – to let go of what is not mine. Yet I have placed my prayer life and my recovery as the linchpin of each day; since I have been sincere in my efforts to pray for God’s will for me, then I can relax into the knowledge that She has never failed me yet. And if, in my stubbornness, I need proof, it is near. I have a safe place to live, the wind outside stirs the trees with an invisible hand, the birds sing, I am loved.
Remembering that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, that HP and I have been in good contact and I am actively working to stay in Her will, not my own – perhaps I need to remind myself of that at the end of the day. Or maybe I should let go of my sleep difficulties altogether. What does it matter if I sleep till noon? As long as I do not fill those damnable hours of midnight to dawn with recriminations, anxiety and fear. As long as my waking hours are productive (or mostly not counter productive) then what does it matter what time I sleep?
Today, I said my “morning” prayers at 4 in the afternoon. It will be dark soon. While that fear may return, I don’t need to know the origins of it, or know its shape or volume in order to contain it. I can simply give it away, ask my Higher Power to remove it. And while that removal is taking place, Siri can keep telling me jokes.
“Letting go means looking hard at the illusion of control.”
Karyn Zweife
