I’ve been having trouble sleeping

I attribute my restlessness to a book I’ve been reading about brain surgery by Henry Marsh. It’s raising an episode of existential angst in me but in a good way.

Marsh’s experience as a neurosurgeon takes a raw look at what it is to be human. I sympathise with Marsh’s patients and admire his talent for sharing stories that illuminate the functions of the brain and capture its complexity. It seems that we take our noggins for granted. The idea that I can have my brain operated on and be awake to see it, a feedback loop of my brain looking at itself, blows my mind. We may be a bunch of biological and chemical processes, but there is magic in that combination.

Marsh touches upon patients that become vegetative or have locked-in syndrome after surgery. In that type of state, the brain can be teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness. I think it’s fair to say that there is a poor quality of life in having no control over your own body. The consequences are ultimately left to family members to take care of you for the rest of your days. What happens in the mind of the patient is unclear. I like to imagine that in my mind, I could examine and revisit places that I may have overlooked while experiencing my experiences in the world. I would just be experiencing them again with much more detail within myself, my ‘new’ dreamlike environment, without my body acknowledging the physical restrictions of time and space.

When I was an undergrad, I read books on biological anthropology and books that investigate how human behaviour and culture have been constructed by the landscape of the brain. For me, archaeology ties in with anthropology and the way people lived in the past. What makes us intrinsically human is our ability to communicate and reflect, structure our surroundings and be shaped by our emotional and physical environments. If all that was to be taken away, are we no longer human?

This line of thinking brings me to a place of worship. A church. Where I spent Saturday night. Not to pray, but to watch an eclectic jazz trio. While I was listening and taking in the playful ambience, there was one soulful piece with melancholic chords that left me thoughtful. I was appreciating my surroundings and focused on the roof architecture, where I noticed a small window letting in the moonlight. The white light penetrated the glass pane, leaving shadows and a dim glow on the ceiling. This church was built around 350 years ago. How many nights has the light of the moon touched this ceiling, over and over again? In that moment, the combination of the music and the old architecture made me feel mortal. I wanted to exist in my body for as long as the building and the moon. But long after I am gone, the moon will continue to shine through that church window.

And that is what has been keeping me awake at night.