end of day

“The sun rises, & the sun goes down, & it hastens to the place where it rises.” – Ecclesiastes 1:5

When I get into bed each night, the lists try to gobble me up—all of the things I didn’t do; all of the new things to do tomorrow. Like counting sheep, I track on my fingers what I didn’t write down, what I must remember, what has to get done. When I wake up, I do the same. Lists have become my prayers, and they empty me.

When I really do pray, it feels empty—my heart & mind consumed by the jumble of shit yet to happen; it weighs on me & steals my thoughts. I usually stop praying mid-sentence & with, “That’s all I have” or “I just can’t talk anymore”.

Why am I wordless when it comes to God, yet the words do not stop within me?

It’s not just God—I’ve been void of words in general. It has taken a struggling force to get myself to write these days. I feel the pull, yet I cannot get the words out. They are in my head, but they refuse to touch the page.

I wonder if people had so much on their minds when they called it a night in biblical times. I also think of the Amish: rising & lying down with the sun. Are they all so anxious to get to bed and disappear for a while? Does the unending to-do list weigh on them like the hope of one day getting it all done?

I like to imagine that days came to a peaceful close for them: what’s done is done.

Even as a child, my nighttime mind was restless. I’ve probably spent more time tossing & turning over thoughts than I have actually sleeping in my bed—the words, the work, the uncertainty are the single pea under my mattress. All of the “but I didn’t do”s and the “I never got around to”s make my whole self restless.

Yet we are called to work until we return to dust. What are the fruits of my labor?

“Even in the night, his heart does not rest.” – Ecclesiastes 2:23

Literally & figuratively, the heart does not rest, even at night. We are filled. With what? Data, words, questions, doubts, love, empathy, emotion, plans. All of the worry and wonder feels more real once time is up at end of day.

Yet the sun hastens to return, and the lists and concerns will be waiting, & as best said by the Weepies: the world spins madly on.