The Wave That Wouldn’t Rest

What’s the point? It’s their life, not yours. Let ’em be. Sometimes it’s better to be asleep. Why shake them up?

Am I looking for company? Am I looking to be understood? Am I looking to convince myself? Validation? Why can’t I just let it go?

It seems that most people are asleep. So asleep they don’t even know they’re sleeping. They talk. They reason. They argue. All the things awake people do, yet they’re sleeping.

And when I come across those people, I just want to shake them awake. But why? They’re doing just fine without me. And even if I manage to awaken them, it feels as if they fall right back asleep. 

Am I not asleep many times, like them, even though I think I’m awake?

And who says being awake is better? It often comes with a bigger sense of responsibility. A sense of despondency. It also creates a sense of superiority between being awake or not. And that’s not necessarily true.

So why this urge? I don’t know. It almost feels like self-sabotage. Because each time I engage, my self-doubt grows. My feelings of inadequacy increase. My loneliness gets darker. So why bother?

Could it be because I want everyone to taste the aroma of life? Is it because I viscerally remember the days I, too, was asleep? And the pain that accompanied it still lingers in my bones, projecting onto others?

But if I don’t go for it, I’m equally hurt. My sense of purpose dies. My fire extinguishes. My being deflates. And it all feels equally senseless. As if there’s no point to it all. And the cycle continues.

I wish I knew the answer. But sometimes, answers don’t answer. It’s probably all of the above and none of the above. It’s probably hidden deep inside my subconscious along with many things I’ll never understand.

Maybe it’s just an invitation to start questioning. Not necessarily a direct answer of right and wrong. Opening the dialogue. Questioning like I question myself. Just being in the struggle itself.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It also doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to wake the masses. I will continue doing so because that’s who I am today. That’s the fire that burns within. That’s the fire that got me awake.

Yes, there might be broken bones and fractured hearts, but that isn’t a good enough reason not to try again.

The Zohar says that each wave in the ocean tries to accomplish one thing and one thing only: to take the ocean back to its original state. In the beginning, God separated the waters and made way for land. And all the ocean tries to do is fully engulf the world once again. But God doesn't allow it. 

And as each wave attempts this impossible feat, on its return, it meets the next wave trying the same attempt. And while they pass each other, the first wave says, Don’t bother. I just gave it my all. It’s impossible. It’s not gonna happen. Don’t even try. You're going up against God.

And the second wave replies, It might not have been possible for you, but maybe I will be successful. And it roars on to attempt the impossible.

We are all the waves, the ocean, the sand and the world. Each one of us is a collective body, and within each of us, we hold all these parts. And we’re always attempting the impossible, even though we might not be successful. But that doesn’t mean we don’t try.

So while I attempt to fall asleep and just live my life, I’m also shaking this world as if my life depends on it—because it really does. It really does.

— איש