Every night, we surrender the world without signing a receipt. One moment we are negotiating with tomorrow. Then the room disappears. Sleep is not simple emptiness. The sleeping brain remains active, moving through different states. Conscious experience may vanish, fragment or become the strange cinema of dreams. Yet our ordinary sense of duration loosens. We close our eyes at midnight and wake as though six hours were quietly removed from the manuscript. Sleep does not stop time. It temporarily removes us from narrating it. Death is not merely deeper sleep. Biology does not confuse the two, and faith does not make death trivial. But the metaphor survives because both confront the ego with absence. In sleep, morning usually returns us to the world we left pending. The messages remain unread. The problem waits beside the bed with admirable discipline. In death, the pending world continues without us. The clock is remarkably unemotional. This is why mortality should not be reduced to a...
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