“But Pooh couldn’t sleep. The more he tried to sleep the more he couldn’t. He tried counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps. And that was worse. Because every Heffalump that he counted was making straight for a pot of Pooh’s honey, and eating it all. For some minutes he lay there miserably, but when the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump was licking its jaws, and saying to itself, “Very good honey this, I don’t know when I’ve tasted better,” Pooh could bear it no longer.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Insomnia is a boat that travels a vast ocean.
The motor of this boat has broken.
The sails are torn to tatters by some long-ago storm that everyone only vaguely remembers.
The boat itself is enormous and seemingly deserted, but once you have walked her decks a while you realise that some of your friends are stuck aboard too, although you may never meet in these rusty corridors.
Insomnia is a boat that makes you rage inside from futility.
But when the rage abates you find that there is something beautiful about the haunted emptiness, the quiet solitude, and the stopping of all movement which leaves you stranded in the company of your good self.
Insomnia is a place for soul poetry and cups of tea, a journey to acceptance of whatever is, and, eventually, at some point beyond this horizon, shipwreck on the shore of dreams.