I used to dread falling asleep because of a recurring nightmare. I’d be standing in a dark room; though as the light increased, the walls would move backward until they disappeared. This wall-less, empty room transformed into a harsh, vast expanse of bright white nothingness. Overwhelmed with panic, I would think, “is this all there is?”
Waking up in a sweat, and in the dark again, the panic would carry over. I’d whisper out loud, “is this all there is?” With my heart pounding, I’d remind myself it was only a dream – that I was in a room, in my house, with my car, with my wife. With everything I’d known to be true before I closed my eyes the prior night. Feeling secure, I’d settle back into sleep.
In the next few months, all of those things would disappear – I’d be divorced, and I’d have sold my house and my car. I would have nothing. Reflecting on my nightmare, I began new adventures, intending to fill my life with new experiences, new people, and new hobbies. As I’d hoped, the nightmares stopped. I realized my dreams had been telling me that there was much more to life than I had been experiencing, and I was grateful for their message, and for their disappearance.
Recently, however, the nightmare has returned. The same empty space. The same bright nothingness. Except it’s no longer a nightmare. I know now, in that moment, that while nothing surrounds me, it still contains everything. It doesn’t need furniture. It doesn’t need walls or windows. And it doesn’t need decoration. It has everything it needs – in this vast space of nothing, the light still shines onto everything. And in the end, that’s all there is.
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.
Plato
