Sleeping Giants

It's the sense of innocence that I find most compelling when I see someone sleep. It has a lot to do with the inactivity; inertness. They're something like defective bombs, or rather, ticking time bombs. They can't do anything, for the moment, but have the potential to do many great things, both beautiful and horrific. It's only when active are we at our most volatile. Do we choose to nurture or destroy? There are always these decisions and the intentions that hardly mean a thing; the best intentions often lead to the greatest disasters. There's always the potential for things to go wrong when active. Though, there's just as much chance for things to be perfect. But it's always a gamble and only sleep and death can manage to stave off the rolling of dice. Stasis isn't an answer to living but it's a peaceful distraction. The storm always breaks, there's no sense in trying to contain it. So maybe it's not just the innocence and inactivity that manages to mystify.

The sleeping face is a reference to the reality of being. It reminds me of who we are as opposed to what we are. We are not our shells, we are not our vessels, we are not our cages, we are not our bodies, we are not these dolls. We are the light, we are the energy, we are that spark that inform our thoughts and our actions that in turn spur our shells, vessels, et cetera. What we are leave in sleep to play in dream. What we are leave in death to play in transcendence. And we come back. An allegory of being, this continual cycle of death and rebirth. The sleeping face like the setting sun; the waking, the rising. All at once the frailty and strength of the Human Condition. All at once and always this sense of peace, mystery and beauty.


DS333, transitory.