Many people struggle to fall asleep. I never had that problem. As soon as my head hits the pillow I drop dead. When my son was little, even his crying wouldn't wake me up. A source of frustration for my wife, but I honestly didn't hear anything. If I was a single dad that child would've starved.
On average I'm wide awake after six hours. It's not a lot, but I feel fully rested. After I wake up I like to linger in bed for a while, and I let my mind wander. I'm sure lots of people do that.
I won't lie to you, sometimes my mind engages in what a catholic priest would call "impure thoughts". (Impure my ass.) Once again, I don't think I'm alone in this. We know that the Dutch painter Rembrandt had similar thoughts because he told us:
"I love those decadent wenches who do so trouble my dreams."
But most of the times I enjoy taking imaginary walks along familiar places. I see myself in places (real places) where I've been in the past. Sometimes I see myself in someone's house, which I remember clearly even when I've only been there just once or twice. (The human brain is quite good at this sort of "spatial memory", if that's the word for it.)
Lying wide awake in bed is the topic of Shakespeare's sonnet number 27. (If Shakespeare had never written any of his plays, he'd still be remembered for his 154 sonnets.) Number 27 is not one of the most famous, but I like it.
The narrator in this sonnet (who knows, perhaps Shakespeare himself) is awake, thinking about someone. I think most of us can relate to that. Haven't we all been there at one point or another in our lives?
The language of this sonnet in particular is not that difficult, but I still included a modern English translation.
Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travail tired.
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired.
Exhausted from work, I hurry to my bed,
The sweet resting place for my tired limbs.
But then a journey begins in my head,
Making my mind work after my body's work has ended.
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Because my thoughts, from where I am,
Begin a long journey to where you are,
And keep my tired eyelids wide open,
Staring at the darkness as blind people do.
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Except that my soul's imagination
Makes me see your image in the darkness,
Which hangs like a jewel in the scary night,
Making the old, black night young and beautiful.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
See, every day my limbs, because of me,
and every night my mind, because of you,
can find no rest.
