Saving Daylight
When I was about four years old, my mother explained daylight savings time to me. I mulled this over on my own, and then came back to her with concern and confusion clouding my countenance. “But how can we change the sun?” I implored. The idea that we tell ourselves a convenient little white lie about time, and that we all, as a society, participate in this falsehood that somehow changing clocks changes time: what audacity! What nonsense! And yet, year after year, we all participate in this ritual. I cherish the notion of an indignant little girl, defending the supremacy of the sun.
It makes us all talk of sleep. Suddenly sleep is front and center, on everyone’s mind, on everyone’s lips for a few days twice each year. We mumble “spring forward, fall back,” counting hours and preparing to be irritated or delighted. We reset clocks, and get mightily confused when they reset themselves. We fall asleep early and sleep late, and then compensate and wake up too early and start the whole pattern over again, since most of us are chronically sleep deprived anyway.
I’m a big fan of sleep. Let’s face it – it’s my only opportunity to experience an altered state of consciousness. It’s my last remaining link with primary process and the wordless richness therein. I crave wordless experience (but that is the subject of another post); sleep refills that well.
From Honey Melon Fudge:
"With neither work nor worry to structure her time, Asha started sleeping. She slept late, she took naps, she fell asleep after Pearl left for school and after she came home from school. She slept the sleep of the dead, deep sleep, dreamless sleep. She slept each night for many hours without stirring. She slept each day, the afternoon nap beckoning her like a new lover. She dove into bed with the enthusiasm of one seeking the thrill of new flesh, and she slept lustily. She slept as one overcoming sleep deprivation. She slept, and she dreamed of sleeping when she was not actually asleep. She slept happily, delighting in her unconsciousness, her escape from thought and action. She slept thoroughly and often, feeding her half-starved nervous system. She slept hungrily, biting off huge juicy chunks of sleep, devouring them. She took deep draughts of sleep, drinking it in, replenishing the reserves that had run dry. She slept as one who had not enjoyed a good night sleep in about a year or so. She slept as one finally released from the prison of anxiety, released from the tensed crouch, no longer awaiting the next onslaught."
