A Message From Rand Lee and “The Family”: On the Fear of Sleep

Fear of sleep is fear of death.

Although he was not conscious of this, [Mister Rand’s] childhood fear of the night, like his fear of sleep many years later, derived in great part from his fear of death as a state in which one must release everything about the self that is known. Death is also a state that is utterly uncontrollable: unstoppable when it appears; and from which, all fleeings in the end prove powerless.

Of course, that state of inevitable uncontrollability may be said also to apply to waking life as well. The Fool in the Tarot deck is one expression of this concept; so is the card often labeled The Devil, which Mister Rand, in his Tarot mythology, labels as Pan.

To Mister Rand, Pan, whose name means “everything” in ancient Greek, is the symbol of uncontrollable physical laws and events, whether the cravings of the human body, which can often overwhelm him; the expression of fatherline DNA that has given his beloved sister Kit a neural disorder that makes it difficult for her to raise her head above her chest; the terrible hurricanes that devastated Puerto Rico; or the devastating effects of ozone buildup in the upper Earth’s atmosphere.

What Mister Rand often overlooks is that Pan—uncontrollable physicalities—can also apply to the wondrous, nourishing aspects of life on Earth as well: the first greening of trees and shrubs in earliest Spring; the onset of menses, which in ancient times and cultures was often celebrated as an awakening of female power; the abundance of fruits and vegetables and herbs that one can coax from the ground if one is acquainted with the physical laws of humus generation…

Then there is the [Tarot] card called Death itself. Mister Rand, for all his many years of work in the metaphysical, often fears that the atheist materialists are correct in their assumption that the universe is an accidental mechanism and consciousness an illusory experience generated by brain cells. Mister Rand hastens to urge us to state that “some of my best friends are atheist materialists” and that being an atheist materialist is not a sign of moral turpitude or spiritual malice.

Stephen Levine, a famous author now deceased, once wrote that in his experience sitting with dying people, it appeared to him that the ones most afraid of dying were the ones who had been most afraid of living.

And we thank you for sharing.

— channeled May 11, 2019, Santa Fe, New Mexico

On Fear of the Dark

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I have always been afraid of the dark. When I was a boy in rural Connecticut, I used to lie awake at night, listening to our old house creak around me, watching shadows creep up the walls of my room and across the ceiling. I was afraid to go down into our cellar, where the washer, dryer, and Mother’s canned goods were kept, because there was a back room, seldom lit, that opened on a cavernous passageway so thick with darkness you could see no farther than a few yards into it.

If you have lived all your life in the city, you may not appreciate just how dark rural nights can be. Outdoors, night transformed our friendly open fields and woods into thick dense shadow, particularly when the moon was on the wane. Affable nocturnal cricket-chirp and brightly lathered starshine mitigated my outdoor night-fears somewhat, but I still feared the gaping open mouth of our barn, and watching horror movies on our black-and-white T.V. didn’t help matters. The shows that scared me were ludicrously tame by modern standards: Invaders From Mars, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein, the British horror series Way Out, every episode of which ended in maniacal laughter. Nonetheless, afterwards, upstairs in my dark bed, I would clutch my stuffed animals and my mother’s rosary to me as though my life depended upon their protection.

Bathrooms, too, scared me at night, particularly bathrooms with the doors shut. So did bathtubs with the shower curtains drawn.

I know why, of course. In the dark, the familiar turns alien, just as when people the child depends upon for security and solace suddenly and without apparent warning show unexpectedly strange, severe, or malignant sides to their personalities. My alcoholic, emotionally disturbed mother’s sudden personality-shifts, my older brother Manfred’s sudden, sneering, verbal and physical attacks from nowhere, my parents’ unpredictable fights, all these terrors I projected onto the Enemy Out There Somewhere, unforeseeable in the dark.

I am 63 years old now, and I wish I could say I am no longer fearful of shadows. After all, I have spent a good part of my adulthood examining my own shadow material, as the psychologists call it, and I have had moments where visions of Divine Love have made all shadows flee away. But still they return. And one thing I know: I must learn to make friends with the dark if I am to someday face my inevitable death with equanimity. For as much as I preach that death is the doorway into Light, my inner child fears otherwise. And we ignore our inner children to our peril.

— Copyright 2014 Rand B. Lee.