"Watchmen of the Soul"

by John H.
2001.04.02

Funny things start happening to me around bedtime. As the sunsets, and the stars awake from their daytime slumber, my thoughts shift gears. The maddening events of the day, all but a painful memory, and the solace of the nighttime air fill my lungs. My brain shuts down, and my inner self takes over.

Like a night watchmen, my inner voice patrols the hallways of my soul, making sure that all the valuables are locked away. We take inventory and revisit all my dreams for a brief moment to make sure they are still vibrant and alive. Then the door slams shut, and the sound of locks clicking fill the air. And my inner voice moves on, checking my dreams one by one. The watchmen also checks my fears, revisits them, making extra sure they are locked away, hoping never to awake them from their hibernation. All the while, checking them off one by one, never forgetting where they hide.

The nights can drive a sane man to drink, a stable man to tremble. Are we ever so comfortable with ourselves, that taking inventory of our fears and dreams becomes trivial? We hope one day, the dreams show themselves in the daylight, but like vampires they lurk in the shadows. We hope our fears remain in those shadows, and surround them in a pool of holy water and garlic with a few wooden stakes for extra insurance. But somehow those fears manage to elude all the traps we set, and show themselves in the worst times. And our dreams never seem to break out of the fortress we create around them.

When are dreams do escape, a prison alarm goes off, my brain wakes up and squashes the rebellion quickly. But the fears, they are too tricky and escape the prison guards and head toward freedom.

I’m tired of being afraid of fear to strike. I want the warm feeling of dreams becoming reality. Do we live in fear our whole lives, fear of failing, fear of being alone, fear of our fears. The army in my soul, whose purpose is to fight the fears, is losing. I’m being flanked from all directions, and all my generals are dead. Soldiers have no direction, and are cavalierly fighting the good fight, only to be out numbered and out smarted in defeat.

I supposed the war is just beginning, and eventually new generals will rise from the fallen ranks and lead inner self to victory. But what if victory is just another dream locked away only to be revisited by my night watchmen, who are now patrolling the deepest dungeons of my soul.