Insomnia of the Spirit

 

They say to wake is to step into chaos. To exist, not merely to be. But what of those who remain cradled in the safety of sleep, lost to the quiet hum of dreams, untouched by the gnawing of truth?

In a world that insists on slumber, wakefulness becomes a rebellion. To truly see is to confront the unbearable weight of reality — and few dare carry it. Most would rather fade into the comfort of illusion, where the world bends to the sweetness of their fantasies. But to be awake, to shake free from the shackles of the false comfort, is to become a stranger to the familiar. A wanderer in a land that asks for blindness and docility.

The conflict lies in the tension: the dreaming world versus the one that burns with raw, unfiltered life. The soul, awake, is a battlefield. Each moment of clarity a war against the numbness. Each step forward a rejection of the lullaby that seeks to lull us back to sleep.

This is the paradox of wakefulness. The more we see, the less we are understood. The deeper we go into the realm of truth, the further we drift from the collective dream that comforts the masses. It is a violent awakening — not for the faint-hearted, not for those who only wish to be comforted by the soft lies of society. Wakefulness is a cut, and in this cut, we bleed with every new realization.

Is it not a tragedy, then, that the world prefers the dreamers? Those who have never known the ache of knowing? But perhaps that is the price of true existence — to be apart, to be awake, to feel the ache of a reality that burns through every illusion.

In the end, we must ask: how much are we willing to see? How much conflict can the soul bear before it is consumed? For once we awaken, the dreamers can no longer hide. We have seen the world as it is, and we can never unsee it.