Is mine truly an erroneous state of being?

sleep
sleep the night is through
all of your daemons are coming for you
all that we see may not all be true
sleep as the sky starts turning blue
sleep as the day is born anew
sleep as the wandering night sleeps too

We are in an infinite room. Not a room, but a room nonetheless. To be enclosed without a sense of the boundaries of one’s enclosure. How terrible to finally find that wall. And yet, how wondrous. To finally know in which way you are contained. To have a conscious understanding of the world around us. I wish for something that great. To know my boundaries, and accept them. I wish it were so simple as finding a wall. The tactile pleasure of pushing up against it, feeling its resistance. Strong and steadfast, unmoving and rough. I wish I had the knowledge of my wall. I want to document it, show it to others. But there is no tactile way, no documentable evidence of that which restricts us. Only the bastardized meaning of words that inhibits us from explaining our experiences. And no conscious way of understanding the way the world warps and turns about us.