Some things keep running when everything else has stopped. A thought that starts up the moment the lights go out. A low hum of vigilance, a to-do list that rewrites itself at 3am. Most of us know what it's like to be tired and still switched on.
What's still awake in me right now? Is it a worry, a plan, an old conversation? Who is it keeping watch for? What would it be like if it were allowed to rest?
Some of it is protective. A part of us stays on guard because it learned that being on guard felt safer. It doesn't need to be argued with. But it's worth asking what it's still waiting for, and whether the thing it's guarding against is actually here.
The body has its own sleepless things too. A heartbeat, a breath, a tide of small adjustments that no one has to ask for. Those never clock off, and nobody calls them tired. What's the difference between what runs on its own and what we keep running by force?
And then there's the question underneath. When the thinking slows and the day's roles are put down, something is still here, noticing that it's quiet. What is that? Does it ever sleep, or does it only look that way when attention is busy somewhere else?
What if the restless part and the steady part are both awake, and you get to choose which one you listen to tonight?
I wrote about the noticing that's still here when everything else has gone in Who Is Experiencing This?, and about what's left when the striving stops in You Are Not a Seeker... You Are the Source.
If this one turned something up and you feel like sharing it, I'd like to hear it. Private, under your name, or anonymous, whichever feels right to you.
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