SLEEP TALK, IS IT STILL IN VOGUE ?

Panic grips your night time persona, when you know it is precisely 7 minutes for day break, a time when you will need to adorn your daytime mask with a so-called disposition and whiz past the metro’s subway, bull-headedly, your hand feverishly gripping a vanilla laced caffeine-fix to help you get through a never-ending, anxiety-filled day at your boss’ favorite hangout.

Languishing in the dark with thoughts of a good night’s sleep, seem familiar and a not-so-distant dream for many, including myself. I personally believe that this is a cause for concern, for people who unintentionally or intentionally stay up late, just because, addictively and over time, their mathematical abilities have zeroed down to endless hours of counting reluctant wool-bearers, in relentless baa-baa mode, jumping over crooked moonlit fences.

This is for real, and the symptom has been honored with a fancy name called Insomnia, a name which I would have simply loved to hear, for its musical tone, if I were sitting on the other side of the fence, minus the moonlight. But unfortunately I am not so lucky, and I fall into the category of Insomniacs, again a word which I would have loved to hear, otherwise, due to its deflected phonetics.

Sleep walking to grab an iced Kelvinator handle, in an effort to seek the last bar of candy on a frosty dim-lit shelf, was not so far-fetched and played out just fine each night. The sweet endeavor was only dampened by a pear shaped, belly-fat crisis, which was screaming out loud at my seams. Other than that, it was an every night ritual, orchestrated consistently, followed day after day, year after year in perfection, just like a McD’s drive thru belting out perfect Beefers to every client, measured by the vernier to the tee, a circumference of 4 in., tilting the scales at 8 oz. Yo boy come and get your Beef!

Legend has it, that when you are unable to sleep at night, it is because you are awake in someone else’s dream. I never was interested in finding out who that someone else was, sleeping soundly and leaving me to twist and turn, but instead, I was desperate and on the verge of forming an online Sleepoholic Anonymous. But eventually ditched the idea as it was eating into my sleep time or to be more precise, my trying-to-sleep time. On the other hand, I read up on both outdated and updated medical journals which talked about sleep theories, sleep research and everything that is out there which could possibly lead me towards that perfect shut-eye, which I was truly craving for. Looming large on the other end of the tunnel was my weight problem which I was battling in vain with cream filled scones and not-so buttery Magnolias. While it seems counter intuitive to eat dessert when you are trying to loose weight, the left hemisphere of my brain told me otherwise, desserts at night can soothe you to a good night’s sleep, and of course I believed myself more than anyone else.

Sleep positions, ah yes! That one was a sales pitch from a good old mattress salesman, who sold me a slab of cushioned comfort that touted a memorable forty half-winks for beginners, at a steep price that was too close for comfort. He said the aim is to try out every conceivable sleep position, or even inconceivable ones, on the mattress, but the key is to never ever get comfortable, whatever that meant. I headed home, eager to try out my new prosthetic sleep support system, which held a promise. Following a much advised, health magazine, sleep routine, I ate an early dinner that evening, steeped myself into a luke-warm bath, lavender salts and chamomile candles to go with, goats milk, a piece of bitter chocolate with 90% cocoa, minus the blue light from my fruit pad, and a capsule of melatonin for the road, if ever the road ahead got a bit bumpy. The next day was not a whole new story, I was still feverishly gripping that vanilla laced fix, and found myself down that same bustling road once again.

Late night after night, I was giving up. Clinic visits didn’t help, and my faculties were caving in, envious at seeing others sleep soundly through the night, I was tempted to try out pharma-fixes, which again I knew was getting me going into a vicious circle of sleep deprivation, if not for a one-off sleep trade-off for 12 hours, which was not worth the wool. I felt I had tried everything under the sun, or should I really say, the moon. The nights were interwoven into one long, never-ending nightmare, staying awake and staring at the ceiling with a hope that this would be the moment when I would drift into nod land forever.

Like they say, all good things must come to an end. One fine day, like God sent, an old friend, a compatriot, a comrade, passed by my house to say bye, as he was migrating to the Alps. He happened to gave me a few tips on sleep yoga, while I mixed him a heady. It baffled my senses to know something like that even existed. It did not feel easy and simple at first, like he said it would be. Practicing yoga, and for sleep inducement, felt like I was talking yoga to a whole new level. Legs up and hands crouched, inhaling insecurities and exhaling worldly OMs finally got me to the realm of calm, peace and serenity. Even the faintest hint of insomnia, abruptly ended, like in a fairy tale. Did I balance the Yin and Yang? Or did I simply shoo away my negative aura, and in turn re-enforce my Chi energy. Whatever it was, this was pretty much it. I slept like a log, day after day, not necessarily night after night, but it was a beginning, to a life filled with abundant rest, glowing skin, best dispositions around every corner, meaningful amusement with friends and family once again, endless hours of cheerfulness that I had never felt, ever before. I could boldly endorse the fact that life truly rocks after a good night’s sleep and every sunrise was worth waking up to see.

I ended up calling what I practiced, healing nocturnal yoga!

Being numb to the world around me had finally ended.