Night and Day
They are two different worlds aren’t they? Or are they? One is packed with schedules and duties, commitments and challenge, the other is some kind of magical mystery tour, entertaining, annoying and mostly mystifying. One abides by the rules of making sense and the other most definitely does not. One is lighted and demanding of attention, the other is shadowy, shifty with trickery. One is rule bound with cultural norms, the other operates as though some fun-loving anarchists wrote the guide book.
We move through the day, focused on our agendas, primed with the politeness and deference that society expects. Our movement through the night, though shrouded in sleep, is one of shuffling and stumbling and then suddenly shifting. Shifting scenes and dimensions without warning. Seeing things morph and melt and often disappear. Losing our identity in the parade of surprises. Maybe later, with head on pillow, becoming convinced that sanity is but some kind of arbitrary construct without any basis in actual experience. ‘Actual’, you think,… maybe more surreal. You’re on the verge of questioning everything when you jump up for work. And then the day takes command and calls all that questioning into question. Then jolts of caffeine convince you to cooperate, which you do, relieved to be on track with that well trodden trail to lunch and then dinner.
By evening we are more or less slotted into the physical plane paradigm, with the mad capers of young children, wine, books and movies providing some relief from the rule book. Even more arrives between the sheets as we drift into the solace of what appears to be silence but soon blossoms into a movie more surreal than any science fiction. That vast imaginarium in which we ricochet madly from one apparition to the next, some of them baffling us with their robust impersonation of reality and others thumbing their nose at our oh-so-sincere questioning. Often we awaken in the middle of the circus, relieved to be putting one foot in front of the other for that time-out of urination. A small reminder of how reassuring that boring normality can be.
So we face the challenge of repetitive tasks tailored to income and survival, versus the trippy madhouse of the various and sundry astrals, some of which are populated with mocking deceivers and nasty little shits with angry agendas and horror movie antics. And yes, there are the paradises and heavens where we can meet the happy dead, radiant with the relief that only decades of anxiety can produce. Now they’re the ones who’ll give you the goods on the attributes of heaven, at least the ones they’ve uncovered so far. That there is many more, they have only suspicions and hearsay. Formless energy planes, higher selves, spheres with the sinful and heretical, easy travel to other planets, all are but myths and legends to them. But the bliss of the astral can breed more tolerance than the privations of the physical, which tends to encourage envy and resentment.
Are they two sides of the same coin, these worlds, or more a mirror image of each other’s rule book? Sometimes I pause and carefully ponder and other times I dive in the deep end and flap about giddily, as comparisons and metaphors float by me like inflatable ducks.