Latest / Boring Science / Boring Science for Sleep _ Why Do We Sleep

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Boring Science for Sleep _ Why Do We Sleep · Boring Science

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Speaker 1: Welcome.
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Speaker 2: You've found your way to Boring Science for Sleep, a
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quiet corner of the universe where science speaks slowly and
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curiosity is allowed to drift off mid-sentence. Before we begin,
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go ahead and tell me, if you'd like. What time
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is it for you right now, and where are you
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listening from? I love knowing who's sharing this quiet with me.
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Whether it's midnight in Rome or 3am in Tennessee, you're
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not alone here. And if this story helps you find
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sleep tonight, feel free to subscribe, so I can read
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to you again another evening, whenever the world feels too awake. Now,
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let's begin with something simple. A yawn. Maybe you've felt
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one coming already. That soft tug behind your eyes. The
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weight settling in your limbs. The day is loosening its grip.
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And something ancient, patient... is calling you back to stillness.
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But just before you drift too far, a question arrives.
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Why do we sleep? It's so normal, so daily, that
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we rarely pause to ask. But isn't it strange? You
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lie down, you close your eyes, and for hours, you
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are completely gone. You don't move much. You don't respond
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to the world. You give yourself over To something you
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can't control. And yet, if you wake up, alive, repaired,
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strangely new. So, what is this thing we do every night,
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without really choosing it? Why does your body require it?
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Even when there's too much to do. Even when you
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resist it with screens and caffeine. Even when life is loud.
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Sleep waits. Patient. Persistent. Like a tide. You can try
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to outrun it, but eventually it catches you in its arms.
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And maybe that's not failure. Maybe that's design. Tonight, we
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won't fight it. We'll follow it. Not with alarms or journals.
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Not with urgency. But with softness. And science told slowly.
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We'll explore how sleep is written into your cells. How
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your brainwaves rise and fall like tides. How memory is
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shaped in the dark. We'll wander through dreaming, through repair,
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through the deep rhythms that carry you, even when you're
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not awake to feel them. Because sleep isn't time lost.
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It's time returned. To yourself. To your breath. To the
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parts of you that don't ask for attention, but need
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your rest to function at all. So breathe. Let your
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jaw loosen. Let your shoulders fall. You don't need to
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understand everything. You don't need to stay awake for the ending.
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Just stay with me for a little while, as long
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as your eyes will let you. This is Boring Science
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for Sleep. And tonight, we're following the oldest lullaby there is,
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the mystery of why we sleep. Let's go back. Farther
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than memory. Farther than fire. Farther than language or tools.
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Back to a time before clocks. Before beds. Before... anything
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had a name. And even then, to sleep was there.
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A rhythm. A pause. A deep, ancient stillness that drifted
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through every living thing. You see, sleep is not something
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humans invented. It's not a habit or a luxury. It
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is one of the oldest instincts on earth. Even the
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simplest creatures feel it. The urge to stop, to dim,
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to let go. Close your eyes for a moment and
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imagine the ocean floor. No Sunday. No noise. Just cold
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water and shifting sand. Down here lives the jellyfish, a
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creature without a brain, without bones, without language. And yet,
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jellyfish sleep. They pulse more slowly at night. They drift
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instead of moving. And if disturbed, they react more sluggishly
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just like you do when someone turns on the light
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too early. They are proof that sleep came before thought,
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before dreams, before neurons even fired in sequence. Sleep is
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not a sign of complexity. It is a foundation. Climb
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higher now, out of the ocean, onto land, into the forests,
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the plains, the cities. Everywhere you look, creatures sleep, fruit flies. Turtles. Lions. Parrots. Frogs.
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Speaker 1: Whales. You.
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Speaker 2: Some curl up in burrows. Some float mid-ocean. Some hang
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upside down. Some sleep with one eye open. Literally. Because
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the need for sleep is universal. But the way it
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happens is endlessly creative. Dolphins, for example, have mastered a
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strange trick They sleep with half their brain at a time.
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The left side sleeps, while the right stays awake to
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watch for predators and to remember to breathe. Then they switch.
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Left awake, right asleep. Back and forth. A rhythm even
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more delicate than yours. But still, sleep. Birds can do
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it too, especially when flying in long migrations. They enter micronaps,
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just a few seconds of shutdown, while their wings keep gliding,
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and their flock stays in formation. Even in the air,
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they rest. Sleep finds a way. And then there's the elephant,
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largest land animal, with a brain bigger than your whole head.
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How much do you think it sleeps? A long, regal
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nap beneath the trees? Not quite. Wild elephants sleep less
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than three hours a day, sometimes even standing. They store
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energy differently. They nap lightly, always half-listening for danger. And yet,
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when allowed to feel safe, when given shelter and calm,
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they lie down. They enter REM sleep. They dream. Even
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giants need stillness. From microbes to mammals, sleep is stitched
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into biology, like breathing, like heartbeat, like the tides pulled
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by the moon. But why? What makes sleep so important
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that nearly every living thing, even the vulnerable ones, take
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the risk of going still? Because sleep is not just
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a break. It's not off. It's different. It is a
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protected state where the body does things it can't do
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while awake. Repair. Reset. Reorganize. A time when systems unplug
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from outside noise and turn inward. It is restorative risk,
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the gamble every creature makes, because the cost of not
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sleeping is worse. In labs, scientists have deprived animals of sleep.
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Not as cruelty, but as inquiry. What happens when a
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creature is never allowed to rest? The results are haunting.
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Cognitive function collapses. Immune systems weaken. Eventually, systems fail entirely.
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Sleep isn't optional. It's not wasted time. It is essential maintenance.
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Like a bridge that must close each night to be inspected.
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A garden that needs night time to grow. Even plants
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have rhythms that echo sleep. Not in the same way.
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No eyes to close. No dreams to chase. But they
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have circadian cycles. They fold leaves. Change chemistry. Store energy
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at night. And bloom in response to morning light. They
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too obey the pull of the dark. And perhaps that's
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the heart of it all. Sleep is not about shutting down.
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It's about tuning in. To the inner work. To the
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secret cycles. To the whispering intelligence within your own cells.
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Across the tree of life. From the humblest worm to
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the tallest giraffe. Life has chosen to stop in order
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to continue. A pause that protects. a stillness that strengthens.
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And you, in your soft bed, in your quiet hour,
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you are part of that lineage. The yawn rising behind
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your eyes is not laziness. It is inheritance. So breathe now.
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Let the rhythm catch you. You are not falling behind.
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You are falling in line with something ancient and wise.
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This need for sleep, it's not weakness. It's biology's lullaby,
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and you are right on time. It starts slowly, not
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with a snap or a fall, but with a soft shift,
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like clouds thickening over a warm afternoon. One moment, you're reading,
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or scrolling, or just staring at the ceiling, thinking about
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something you can't quite remember. And then, a blur, a
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blink that lingers just a little too long. a breath
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that deepens without being asked. Something inside you begins to
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turn down the lights. Your body is not guessing, it
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is responding, to cycles, to chemistry, to rhythms older than language.
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Every day, a slow, silent dance takes place inside you,
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governed by a clock you never set. A master clock,
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tucked in the base of your brain, called the suprachiasmatic nucleus.
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Just a cluster of neurons, no bigger than a grain
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of rice, nestled in your hypothalamus. But it runs the show.
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It knows what time it is, even when you don't.
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This master clock keeps you on a 24-hour cycle. Your
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circadian rhythm. Circa, meaning around. Dian, meaning day. Your body
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runs on the memory of the Sunday. When light hits
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your eyes in the morning, it sends a signal to
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this inner clock. Day has begun, and that signal sets
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everything else in motion. Hormones. Body temperature. Heart rate. Alertness.
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And as the sun disappears, and light fades from your eyes,
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the opposite message arrives. Night has come. Prepare. But preparing
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for sleep isn't just about yawning. It's biochemical. A slow
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layering of molecules, like blankets, one on top of another.
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One of the first is adenosine. This chemical builds in
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your brain the longer you're awake. It's a by-product of activity,
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a sign that your neurons have been working. The more
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adenosine builds, the sleepier you feel. It's your brain's way
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of saying, we've done enough today. And then, as the
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evening settles in, another player arrives. Melatonin. You may have
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heard of melatonin as a sleep supplement, a pill in
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a bottle on the pharmacy shelf. But your body makes
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it naturally. Your pineal gland, a tiny pinecone-shaped organ deep
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in your brain, releases melatonin as daylight disappears. Not to
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make you fall asleep instantly, but to open the door. Melatonin.
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is not a hammer. It is a dimmer switch. It
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tells your body, quiet now. Something softer is coming. Your
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temperature begins to drop. Your heart rate slows. Your thoughts
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start to drift. The lights are fading. But how does
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the brain actually switch states? After all, being awake and
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being asleep are very different experiences. You don't just close
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your eyes. You cross a threshold. and that crossing is
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managed by a delicate interplay between two opposing systems. On
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one side, your arousal network, the part of your brain
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that keeps you awake, focused, alert. It's driven by neurotransmitters
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like norepinephrine, histamine, and acetylcholine. It loves morning light, caffeine, novelty, urgency.
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On the other side, your sleep-promoting network, anchored in areas
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like the ventrolateral preoptic nucleus. This part releases GABA, a
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calming neurotransmitter, which begins to inhibit the arousal system. It's
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not a war. It's a seesaw. And, when the time
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is right, and melatonin has done its work, and adenosine
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has made its plea, and GABA has whispered to the
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rest of the brain, the balance tips, the arousal system quiets.
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The sleep network takes over. And you begin to cross.
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This shift is an instant. It's more like descending into water.
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Layer by layer. Sensation by sensation. You start to lose
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track of time. Then space. Then the edges of your
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own body. Muscles relax. Eyelids grow heavier. Your thoughts untangle.
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And somewhere between one breath and the next... You're no
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longer trying to sleep. You're sleeping. Your brain knows what
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to do. It begins cycling through sleep stages, light sleep,
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deep sleep, REM, each with its own rhythm, its own signature.
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But we'll explore those stages later. For now, just know this.
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Falling asleep is not passive. It is active surrender. Your
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brain doesn't shut off. It reconfigures. It pulls you inward,
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away from the noise, into a state where other kinds
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of work can begin. Work you never notice, but can't
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live without. And sometimes, this delicate switch gets stuck. Maybe
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because of stress, or too much light. Or a racing
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mind that won't dim itself. That's when sleep becomes slippery.
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Your body wants to shift, but the balance is off.
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Too much arousal. Not enough gabber. Too much blue light
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telling your brain that day hasn't ended. Sleep waits, but
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doesn't come. Even then, your body is trying. The clock
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is still ticking. The dimmer is still reaching for the dark.
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So tonight, as you lie still, maybe you'll notice it happening.
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That slow glide downward. That moment when your arms feel
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heavier than you remember. when the fan hum becomes a lullaby,
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when the world starts to slip through your fingers and
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you let it, that's not you being lazy. That's your
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biology doing its most ancient job, changing states. Switching gears,
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tuning the entire orchestra from action to rest. You don't
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need to help it. You only need to allow it. Breathe,
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close your eyes, and trust that the switch will find you.
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It always does. Sleep is not one thing. It may
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feel like a single quiet river, a gentle current that
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carries you from dusk to dawn. But under the surface,
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the water moves in waves. Slow. Fast. Looping. Changing. Your
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brain doesn't simply turn off when you sleep. It shifts patterns.
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It rewires itself across the night in rhythmic stages. And
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each one has its own purpose, its own texture, its
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own music. Tonight, let's float through those waves, not to analyse,
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but to listen, to feel the hush of the brain
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at rest and the quiet genius of the mind asleep.
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It begins with stage one. This is the borderland, a
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threshold between wakefulness and sleep, light, fleeting, easily broken. Your
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muscles twitch. Your thoughts flicker. You might feel like you're falling,
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or hear your name whispered in silence. Your brain produces
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theta waves now, gentle, slow pulses that replace the sharp
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chatter of wakefulness. If someone called your name, you might
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still hear it. You could wake easily. But the switch
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has already begun. You're no longer here. You're drifting. Then,
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without fanfare, You slip into stage two. This is where
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you spend most of your night. Not dreaming. Not deeply gone.
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But truly, steadily asleep. Your body temperature drops. Your heart slows.
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Your breathing becomes smooth and even. And inside your brain,
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something beautiful begins. Short bursts of activity called sleep spindles
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flash across your neurons. Tiny electric storms. like fireflies blinking
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in the dark. They protect your sleep, blocking out sounds, sensations, distractions.
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Alongside them, K-complexes appear, sudden spikes of voltage, as if
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the brain is saying, Yes, I heard that, but I'm
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staying asleep. Stage two is sleep's gentle armour. Soft, steady, shielding. Then, slowly...
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You descend into stage three, deep sleep, also known as
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slow wave sleep. This is the quietest place in the brain. Here,
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your brain waves become long and lazy, delta waves rolling
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like ocean swells. They come just a few times per second, heavy, healing.
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This is the stage where the body repairs itself. Tissues regrow.
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Muscles recover. The immune system fortifies. Children release growth hormone here.
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Wounds knit back together. Cells clean house. It's a kind
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of sacred labour, done in total silence. If someone tried
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to wake you now, it would be hard. You'd feel groggy,
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as if pulled from the bottom of a lake. But
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that depth is vital. Without deep sleep, the body begins
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to fray. And then... After about 60 to 90 minutes,
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something odd happens. Your brain begins to rise. Not into wakefulness,
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but into a different kind of sleep. You enter REM.
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Rapid eye movement sleep. Here, the brain becomes strangely active again.
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Almost as if it's awake. Your eyes dart beneath closed lids.
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Your heart rate rises. Your breathing becomes irregular. And most notably,
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you begin to dream. REM sleep is unlike anything else.
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Your muscles are paralyzed, a safety feature, so you don't
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act out your dreams, but your mind is alive. It
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weaves stories, tests memories, replays emotions, creates nonsense, and sometimes clarity.
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Dreams don't always make sense, but REM sleep plays a
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crucial role in your mental health. It helps you process feelings.
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Strengthen memories. Rehearse possibilities. It is the night's theatre. Private. Strange. Healing.
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Your brain cycles through these stages.
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Speaker 1: One.
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Speaker 3: Two.
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Speaker 2: Three.
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Speaker 1: Rem.
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Speaker 2: Again and again throughout the night. Each cycle lasts about
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90 minutes. And across the night, the pattern shifts. In
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early sleep, you spend more time in deep, slow-wave sleep.
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Your body is rebuilding, fortifying. But later in the night,
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REM sleep dominates. Your dreams stretch longer. Your brain becomes
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more active. It's as if the body heals first, and
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the mind comes later to wander, to feel, to release.
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And though these cycles are ancient and automatic, they are
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also fragile. Disruption from stress, light, noise, illness, can shorten
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deep sleep, fragment REM, cut cycles short. That's why uninterrupted
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sleep is so precious. It's not about how long you sleep.
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It's about how well you cycle. And tonight, your body
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remembers how. Even now, as you lie still, your brain
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is preparing to dance in waves, in stages, in silence.
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You don't need to understand every detail. You don't need
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to count your cycles. Just know your brain is wise.
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It knows when to descend and when to rise. When
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to mend and when to dream. Sleep is not one shape.
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It is many. A tide. A spiral. A layered hum
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beneath your thoughts. So if you wake in the middle
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of the night and feel strange or disoriented... To know this.
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You are not broken. You are mid-cycle. Still turning. Sleep
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is not a single line. It loops. It circles. It sways.
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And you, you are floating gently within it. Each wave
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deeper than the last. Each stage a different kind of quiet.
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And all of it designed to keep you whole. The
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body sleeps. but the brain does not go dark. In fact,
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while you drift deeper, while your limbs grow heavy and
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your eyes stop seeing, your brain begins its quiet shift
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into something else entirely. Not rest, but restoration. Not silence,
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but housekeeping. Like a library after closing time, when the
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lights dim, the readers vanish, and soft footsteps begin to
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move through the stacks. Books are returned to their shelves.
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Dust is swept from corners. Records are filed. Notes are erased.
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And the building prepares for another day. Your brain does
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this too. Every night, without ever asking for thanks. Imagine,
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if you will, your mind as a city. In daylight,
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it's bustling. Cars honk. People talk. Screens glow. Neurons fire.
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Every second, Sensations arrive. Memories form. Emotions rise. Plans unfold.
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You navigate, react, remember. But even a city has to
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clean itself. Take out the trash. Wash the windows. Clear
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the streets. And unlike your kitchen floor or inbox, your
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brain doesn't wait for permission. It simply waits for sleep.
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One of the most remarkable things your brain does at
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night is wash itself. That's not a metaphor. It's literal.
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While you sleep, a system called the glymphatic system, a
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cousin to your body's lymphatic system, becomes active. Tiny channels
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open between your brain cells, allowing cerebrospinal fluid to flow in,
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like gentle waves rinsing through neural alleys. This fluid carries
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away waste products, excess proteins, dead cell fragments, leftover byproducts
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from the day's thoughts. Among them is beta-amyloid, a sticky
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protein associated with Alzheimer's disease when it builds up. During sleep,
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especially deep sleep, these molecules are flushed away. You could
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call it brain hygiene. Sleep doesn't just make you feel clearer.
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It makes you clearer, but cleaning is only part of it.
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While the physical brain is being rinsed and restored, The
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memory networks are hard at work. Organising, editing, choosing. Throughout
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the day, you gather moments. Some are loud. Conversations, facts, feelings.
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Others are soft. The colour of a flower you didn't
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realise you noticed. The angle of someone's smile. The sentence
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that stayed with you. Your brain doesn't store all of it.
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That would be too much. Instead, during sleep, It sifts.
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It decides what to keep, what to strengthen, and what
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to quietly let go. This process happens across sleep stages.
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In deep sleep, your brain replays patterns, reactivating neural pathways
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that were used during learning. It's like saving a file
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after editing. The information is reinforced. In REM sleep, the
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brain connects ideas. It shuffles memories, links distant thoughts, runs
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little emotional simulations. That's why REM is so important for
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creativity and emotional processing. You may wake from a dream confused,
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but your brain knows what it was doing. It was
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filing your day, tidying your story. Not perfectly, but gently.
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And it's not just memory. Your brain uses sleep to
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update your internal models of the world. It tunes expectations.
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Resets attention filters. Adjusts emotional responses. That thing that bothered
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you this morning. May feel smaller tomorrow. Not because the
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world changed. But because your brain recalibrated while you slept.
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You've likely felt it. A problem that felt enormous at midnight.
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Becomes manageable by morning. That's not just time passing. That's
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the work of a brain. Rebooted in the quiet hours.
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Even the parts of your brain that deal with your
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sense of self rest and reconfigure during sleep. Your default
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mode network, a collection of regions active when your mind
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is wandering, shifts patterns. It becomes quieter in deep sleep,
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then flares in REM. Some researchers think this might be
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why dreams feel so personal, so tied to your identity
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and memory. Your mind, even at rest, is still practicing
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being you. Of course, all of this happens invisibly. You
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don't feel the rinse of the glymphatic tide. You don't
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hear the shuffle of memory cards. You don't notice the
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updates to your emotional software. You simply lie there, still, soft, sleeping.
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And your brain works. In the dark. Without noise. Without effort.
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Just quiet labor. Delicate recalibration. Invisible repair. When you wake,
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you may not remember your dreams. You may feel groggy.
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You may not feel different. But your brain knows. It
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has done what it needed to do. The thoughts are cleaner.
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The feelings are steadier. The paths are clearer. Sleep is
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not idleness. It is invisible maintenance. And without it, the
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system begins to strain. This is why chronic sleep loss
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affects more than your energy. It clouds memory, blunts attention,
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fogs emotion, even raises risk for neurological disease. It's not
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just about being tired. It's about not being cleaned, not
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being reorganized, not being given the time to heal from
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the act of thinking. So tonight, as you drift deeper
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into the rhythm of Know that your brain is doing
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what it's always done. Turning off the outside world so
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it can turn inward. Not because it's broken. but because
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it cares. And in that soft glow behind your dreams,
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you are being restored, one gentle cycle at a time.
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Your eyes are closed, your thoughts are floating, and your
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mind has begun to drift elsewhere. But your body is
29:59
has just started its shift. You see, while you sleep,
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your body is not shutting down. It's changing gears. You've
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handed over the keys. And now the overnight crew arrives, silent, steady,
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and unseen.
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Speaker 4: Tissues.
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Speaker 2: Hormones. Cells. Each begins its repair. Each begins its song.
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This is the repair shift. And it only begins when
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you let go. Let's start with your muscles. They've carried
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you through the day, through every step, every reach, every frown,
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every laugh. Even stillness asks something of them. Tiny tears
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form in your fibers, not from damage, but from living.
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And while you sleep, especially during deep, slow-wave sleep, your
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body begins the restoration. Protein synthesis increases. New cells begin
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to form. Damaged ones are replaced. Think of it like weaving.
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Each night, your body knits itself back together, strand by strand,
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fibre by fibre, so that when you wake, you're whole again. Next,
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your immune system. By day, it's busy standing guard, fending
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off invaders, flagging threats, scanning the bloodstream for signs of trouble.
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But by night, it goes deeper. Sleep allows immune cells
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like T-cells and natural killer cells to regroup, to multiply,
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to circulate more freely. Inflammation is regulated. Cytokines rise and
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fall in just the right pattern. Even vaccines are more
31:45
effective when you're well rested. Your body doesn't just fight
31:49
illness better with sleep. It remembers better too, training immune
31:54
memory like a muscle. So while you dream, your body defends. Quietly. Faithfully.
32:02
And what about your hormones? They too follow the night.
32:06
Your growth hormone surges during deep sleep, not just for children,
32:11
but for everyone. It's what rebuilds tissues, strengthens bones, supports metabolism. Meanwhile, cortisol,
32:21
the stress hormone, falls. Your system cools. The alarms go silent.
32:28
Other hormones shift too. Leptin, which helps you feel full, rises. Ghrelin,
32:34
which makes you feel hungry, falls. Which means sleep affects
32:39
your appetite. Ever notice how a sleepless night leads to
32:44
stronger cravings the next day? That's your hormones, off-rhythm, trying
32:49
to rebalance without their nightly reset. Your body needs sleep,
32:54
not just to rest, but to regulate, deeper still. your
32:59
heart and blood vessels. As you fall asleep, your blood
33:04
pressure lowers, your heart rate slows, the vascular system relaxes.
33:10
This nightly dip, known as nocturnal dipping, gives your cardiovascular
33:15
system a chance to recover from the day's strain. It's
33:20
like pulling your foot off the gas, letting the engine cool,
33:24
and without that dip, if your sleep is too short,
33:28
too fragmented, the heart begins to work overtime. Day after day.
33:34
Year after year. Which is why good sleep is tied
33:37
to heart health. Not abstractly, but directly. Your heartbeat thanks
33:43
you for every hour of rest. Even your skin changes
33:47
at night. Blood flow increases. Cell turnover accelerates. Wounds begin
33:54
to heal more quickly. That phrase, beauty sleep? It's not
33:58
just poetic. Your skin truly does repair while you sleep.
34:03
Collagen is built. Inflammation fades. New cells replace the old.
34:09
And in the morning, your skin glows a little more softly.
34:14
Not because of magic, but because your body had the
34:17
time to tend its outermost layer. And then there's your metabolism.
34:22
Sleep regulates how your body processes glucose, how it stores energy,
34:27
how it balances insulin. Deprive yourself of sleep and the
34:32
body begins to misread signals, storing fat when it shouldn't,
34:37
raising blood sugar when it doesn't need to. It's not
34:40
about weight. It's about harmony. Sleep keeps the orchestra of
34:45
organs playing in tune. Without it, the tempo breaks and
34:50
your body begins to tire in ways that coffee cannot fix.
34:55
All of this, the muscle repair, the hormone regulation, The
35:00
immune recalibration. The heart's exhale. The skin's quiet renewal. None
35:07
of it feels like anything. You don't sense the cells dividing.
35:11
You don't feel your heart slowing. You don't hear your
35:14
immune system circulating in silence. But it's happening. Every night.
35:20
Like clockwork. Your body does not sleep to disappear. It
35:25
sleeps to become itself again. Think of it like this.
35:28
Your waking hours... are for use. Movement, decision, action. Your
35:35
sleeping hours are for maintenance. Polishing, resetting, repairing. You are
35:42
both machine and garden. And each night, your body tends
35:46
to itself. Quietly pruning, gently watering, silently strengthening. You don't
35:53
have to do anything. Just let the repair crew clock in.
35:58
So tonight, As you lie still and heavy, let go
36:02
of the urge to do. The body knows its duties.
36:06
It doesn't need your mind to manage it. You've handed
36:09
over the shift. The night team has arrived. And they're
36:13
already at work. No checklist. No report. Just soft rhythms.
36:19
And cells that remember how to heal. The body lies still.
36:23
Breathing soft. Limbs quiet. Muscles deeply relaxed. as if melted
36:30
into the mattress. And then, beneath closed lids, your eyes
36:35
begin to move. Not slowly, but darting, side to side,
36:41
flickering like they're watching something only they can see. This
36:46
is REM sleep. Rapid eye movement. A stage unlike any other. Strange, beautiful,
36:54
and still not fully understood. You cycle through REM several
36:58
times each night. It first appears about 90 minutes after
37:02
you fall asleep, and grows longer with each return. By
37:06
early morning, REM sleep dominates your final hours of rest.
37:11
It's when you dream the most. Not the quiet, floating
37:15
thoughts of light sleep, but vivid scenes, conversations, adventures, fears.
37:23
Impossible images your mind accepts as real. And then, do
37:29
you wake? And much of it vanishes like mist. But
37:32
the effects? Those stay. REM sleep is one of biology's
37:37
quiet mysteries. Your brain becomes active, nearly as active as
37:42
when you're awake. But your body becomes paralyzed. Yes, atonia
37:48
takes over. Your voluntary muscles shut down. so you don't
37:53
act out your dreams. Your body protects you from yourself.
37:57
Only the essentials remain. Eye movements, breathing, heartbeat, and of course,
38:05
the storm inside your skull. During REM, your brain processes, emotions,
38:12
your limbic system, especially the amygdala, the seat of fear
38:16
and emotion, lights up, which may be why dreams feel intense. dramatic,
38:22
or cathartic. It's not always random. Your brain is working
38:27
through something.
38:28
Speaker 4: Memory.
38:29
Speaker 2: Not just storing facts, but integrating emotional memory. Connecting dots
38:35
between experiences. Making meaning. Creativity. The prefrontal cortex, the part
38:42
that edits, organizes, and reasons, quiets down. Without its oversight,
38:48
ideas can mix freely. That's why strange things can happen
38:52
in dreams. A train turns into a hallway. A stranger
38:56
becomes your sister. The moon falls into your hand. And
39:00
it makes sense. In REM, the mind is playing, not idly,
39:06
but with purpose. Dream researchers sometimes call REM overnight therapy.
39:12
You relive things, not to be haunted, but to reduce
39:17
the sting. Painful experiences become less painful. angry memories soften.
39:23
You don't erase them. You process them. One study found
39:27
that emotional experiences that provoked a physical response, like increased
39:32
heart rate or pupil dilation, became less reactive after a
39:36
full night's sleep, especially REM. It's as if the brain says, yes,
39:41
that was real. Yes, it hurt. But you're safe now.
39:46
And by morning, you believe it just a little more.
39:50
There's also a theory, not yet proven, but quietly elegant,
39:55
that REM is a kind of neural rehearsal. For infants,
39:59
who spend 50% of their sleep in REM, it may
40:03
help wire their developing brains. It's as if the mind
40:06
is practicing life, before it has to live it. For adults,
40:12
REM may continue that simulation, preparing for challenges, solving problems,
40:18
testing versions of ourselves. You may not remember what you dreamed,
40:23
but your brain remembers the pathways. And yet, REM remains elusive.
40:29
We still don't know why some dreams feel like memories
40:34
and others feel like fantasy. Why nightmares repeat. Why some
40:39
people dream vividly and others barely at all. Why you
40:43
forget most of your dreams within seconds. Or why certain
40:47
dreams cling for decades. What we do know is this.
40:51
When REM sleep is disrupted, by illness, by substances, by
40:56
chronic stress, mood worsens. Learning falters. Mental health begins to slip.
41:04
REM may be mysterious. But it is essential. Curiously, animals
41:09
dream too. At least, some of them. Watch a sleeping
41:13
dog twitch its paws. A cat's whiskers flutter. Eyes move
41:18
beneath fur. These are not just reflexes. They're signs of REM,
41:24
the dreaming stage. We don't know what they see. We
41:28
may never know. But they too carry emotions. They too
41:33
process their world. In that way, dreaming connects us. Not
41:38
just to memory or creativity, but to all creatures who sleep. Sometimes,
41:44
you might wake from a dream with your heart racing.
41:48
or with tears drying on your cheeks, or with a
41:51
sudden clarity, as if a truth just whispered its name
41:55
to you. It may fade. That's okay. Dreams aren't made
42:01
to be held. They're made to move you, like waves
42:04
in the dark, like messages in a bottle, sent from
42:08
deep within to the shore of your morning. So tonight,
42:13
if you dream, let it happen. Don't chase meaning. Don't
42:18
cling too hard. Let your mind wander the silent landscapes
42:22
it builds. Let it stitch your emotions back together with
42:26
light and shadow. Let it rehearse.
42:29
Speaker 4: Release.
42:31
Speaker 2: Reset. You may never remember what played behind your eyes,
42:35
but your brain will remember how to be whole. And that, quietly,
42:40
might be the point. Even now, as your eyelids grow heavier...
42:46
And your thoughts begin to melt into quiet shapes. Something
42:50
inside you is still ticking. A clock. Not made of
42:54
metal or gears. Not on your wrist. Or glowing by
42:58
your bedside. But deep in your brain. Silent. Steady. Relentless.
43:05
This is your circadian rhythm. The body's own 24-hour script.
43:11
It tells your cells when to wake. When to sleep.
43:14
When to repair. when to rest. And it does this
43:19
without ever asking for permission. The word circadian comes from Latin,
43:24
circa meaning about, and diem, day. About a day. Your
43:30
body doesn't follow the sun directly, but it runs close
43:34
to it, like a dancer beside a spotlight. And at
43:38
the heart of it all is a tiny bundle of
43:41
neurons in your brain, the suprachiasmatic nucleus or SCN. It
43:47
lives just above the place where your optic nerves cross,
43:51
which makes sense, because light, sunlight, is its guide. Each morning,
43:57
when your eyes detect light, a signal is sent straight
44:00
to the SCN, and like a conductor lifting a baton,
44:04
it cues your systems to begin. Cortisol rises gently to
44:09
wake you. Body temperature starts to climb. Melatonin, the sleep hormone,
44:15
fades into the shadows. You might think of it as
44:19
your internal sunrise, even if you never look outside. Your
44:23
body knows. The clock is set. And as day turns
44:27
to night, light fades. Signals shift. Melatonin rises again, like
44:34
fog from the forest floor. You may yawn without thinking,
44:39
stretch without knowing why, feel your limbs become a little heavier.
44:43
This is your internal sunset, the quiet pull toward rest.
44:48
Even artificial light can't silence it completely, though it can
44:52
confuse it, which is why screens at midnight can make
44:56
you feel stuck in a false noon. And why a
45:00
single camping trip, one without phones or bulbs, can reset
45:05
a tired rhythm in just a few days. The circadian
45:08
rhythm isn't just about sleep. It orchestrates nearly every biological system.
45:14
Your liver knows what time it is. So does your skin,
45:18
your heart, even your digestive enzymes. There are clock genes
45:23
in your DNA. Molecules that rise and fall in a
45:27
predictable dance every 24 hours. They're not just responding to
45:32
the world. They're keeping time. You are, in a very
45:36
real way, a creature made of rhythms. Some rhythms are big,
45:42
like sleep and wakefulness. But others are subtle. Your body
45:47
temperature dips around 4am. Your alertness peaks in late morning.
45:52
Reaction time is sharpest in the afternoon. Muscle strength hits
45:57
its highest point around early evening. And after that, the
46:01
curtain falls again. Your day isn't just one long slope.
46:06
It's a wave, rising and falling. in a pattern written
46:10
before you were born. You don't always feel it, but
46:14
it's always there. And yet, not every clock ticks in sync.
46:19
Some people are morning larks, ready to soar before the
46:22
world stirs. Others are night owls, restless until the stars
46:27
are high. It's not laziness, not discipline, it's biology. Your chronotype,
46:34
your natural sleep-wake preference, is partly genetic. The modern world
46:40
tries to flatten this. School bells ring early. Meetings start
46:45
at nine. The rhythm of society favours the early. But
46:50
the rhythm of your body may hum to a different tune.
46:54
And that's okay. Disrupt the rhythm too much, though, and
46:59
the consequences echo deeply. Shift workers, those who work nights
47:04
or irregular hours, often struggle with sleep. Mood. metabolism, immunity.
47:12
Jet lag is a mini version of that disruption. You
47:15
land in a new time zone, but your cells haven't
47:18
arrived yet. They're still ticking to the old schedule, sending
47:23
melatonin when it's bright out, making you alert in the
47:26
middle of the night. It takes time to realign, because
47:30
the body doesn't jump to new time zones. It drifts
47:34
toward them, gently, deliberately. like water finding its new level.
47:40
There's something comforting about knowing your body is keeping time,
47:45
even when you're unaware. When you feel lost in the week,
47:49
when everything feels off-kilter, sometimes it's just your rhythm asking
47:54
to be heard. More light in the morning. Less at night.
47:59
Consistent sleep and wake times. Simple things, but powerful. You
48:05
don't need to hack your biology. You just need to
48:08
honour it. Give it structure, and it will sing. And so,
48:13
as the minutes pass now, and the night deepens outside
48:17
your window, know this. Your rhythm is holding you, like
48:22
a cradle woven from light and dark. You were meant
48:25
to sleep now, and everything inside you agrees. Your body
48:30
knows the way. It's walked this path every day, every life,
48:36
every species. Sleep is not interruption. It's integration. It's your
48:41
clock striking home. You may think sleep is the same
48:45
every night. The same slow drift. The same quiet dark.
48:50
But really, sleep evolves. It grows with you. And sometimes,
48:57
it outgrows you too. From the first breath, to the
49:01
final yawn, sleep is a shapeshifter, adjusting itself to the
49:05
body it serves. It bends to growth, to hormones, to age,
49:12
to need. Let's walk through the rhythm of a life,
49:16
seen only by the eyes closed in rest. A newborn
49:19
doesn't know day or night They sleep in fragments Two
49:24
hours here, three hours there Not because they're unruly But
49:29
because their tiny bodies are writing themselves A baby may
49:33
sleep 16 to 18 hours a day But it's scattered
49:37
Chaotic Dream heavy Half of that sleep is REM. Their brains,
49:43
new and tender, are laying tracks in real time. Each
49:47
flicker of the eye, each breath in slumber, might be
49:52
a synapse forming, a memory ceiling, a world being built inside.
49:58
They're not just resting, they're becoming. By age three, sleep
50:02
starts to take shape. Naps shrink. Night sleep expands. And
50:08
slow-wave sleep The deepest, most restorative kind dominates the night.
50:15
Growth hormone surges during these hours. Bones lengthen. Muscles form.
50:21
Tissues repair. This is why children fall asleep mid-sentence. Why
50:26
they sleep through storms. Why they grow overnight. Their sleep
50:31
is strong and their dreams are vivid. Bedtime becomes a ritual,
50:37
a signal to the brain it's time to reset. And
50:40
so they do. Again and again. Until their bodies stretch
50:45
too fast for their own pyjamas. Then comes adolescence. And
50:49
the rhythm changes. Teens aren't lazy. Their internal clocks genuinely
50:55
shift later. They become biologically programmed to fall asleep around midnight.
51:01
And to wake up around eight or nine. School doesn't
51:04
always agree. So they live in a kind of permanent
51:08
jet lag. chasing sleep on weekends, dragging through weekdays. Sleep
51:14
also becomes more emotionally charged. REM intensifies. Dreams become more symbolic,
51:21
more layered with identity and feeling. This is when sleep
51:25
stops being simple and starts becoming personal. In early adulthood,
51:31
the body settles into a familiar rhythm. Seven to nine
51:35
hours becomes the norm, but adulthood also brings interference work
51:42
parenting stress screens late-night thoughts you begin to trade sleep
51:49
for life and it feels doable until it's not sleep
51:54
debt creeps in not all at once but like sand
51:58
filling your shoes slow wave sleep begins to decline not
52:03
drastically yet but enough that you wake more often or
52:07
feel less refreshed. REM too changes. Shortened, disrupted, sometimes squeezed
52:14
into early morning hours. Adulthood is the time when you
52:18
must choose to protect your sleep, because the world won't
52:21
do it for you. As you move into your 60 second,
52:24
70 second, and beyond, sleep changes again. It becomes lighter.
52:31
You may wake more during the night, for the bathroom,
52:35
for a sound, for no reason at all. Deep sleep
52:39
becomes scarcer. REM can still be rich, but the boundaries blur.
52:45
Dreams mix with wakefulness. Naps return. You may sleep less
52:50
at night, but your total sleep over 24 hours stays steady,
52:55
just spread out differently. The circadian rhythm may shift earlier,
53:01
so sleepiness comes at 8pm and waking arrives at 4
53:05
or 5am. This isn't dysfunction. It's transition. Your body needs less,
53:12
but it still needs some. And the quality of sleep, calmness,
53:16
continuity matters more than ever. Despite all this variation, some
53:21
things stay beautifully the same. Every human, at every age,
53:26
passes through stages of sleep. Even if the proportions shift,
53:31
every brain, regardless of age, needs time to forget, to consolidate.
53:36
to heal. Everybody, whether tiny and new or old and aching,
53:43
relies on sleep to tune the instruments of life. And dreams,
53:48
those strange whispers in the dark, visit everyone, from the
53:53
baby who cries out mid-rem to the elder who smiles
53:56
in their sleep. We are all dreamers. Sleep is not
54:01
one thing. It is many things shaped by time. And
54:06
just like time, it doesn't move backward. You can't sleep
54:10
like a child again. But you can sleep well and
54:14
deeply in the body you have today. Sometimes we resist change.
54:20
We wish sleep were what it once was. But just
54:24
as your hair greys, your joints soften, your voice deepens,
54:29
your sleep becomes the elder it was always meant to be.
54:33
Speaker 4: Wiser.
54:34
Speaker 2: Simpler. Enough. So if you've ever thought, I used to
54:39
sleep so well, what happened to me? Remember, you didn't
54:43
fail sleep. You grew past one version of it. And
54:47
there's still rest ahead. Soft, safe, suited to who you
54:52
are now. Let yourself receive it. Let yourself adjust. As
54:58
trees adjust to seasons, as rivers shift their paths, sleep
55:03
is not gone. It's just wearing a different face tonight.
55:07
And it still knows how to hold you. There's a
55:10
quiet librarian in your brain. One who only works at night.
55:15
She doesn't speak. She doesn't wear shoes. She tiptoes through
55:19
your thoughts while you sleep. Sorting. Filing. Gently sweeping the
55:25
dust from your day. You never see her. But you
55:28
always feel her work. Sleep is not just rest. It
55:33
is organization, integration, emotional maintenance. It is a kind of
55:39
therapy that happens every single night, whether you remember your
55:43
dreams or not. So let's lie still for a while
55:47
and visit the shelves inside your mind. When you go
55:51
to sleep, your brain doesn't go dark. It lights up,
55:55
not all at once, but in waves. And each wave
55:59
brings with it a different kind of care. Early in
56:03
the night, your brain sinks into deep, slow-wave sleep. This
56:09
is when it begins its cleanup. Imagine a gentle vacuum
56:13
moving through your neural corridors, clearing debris, washing away leftover signals,
56:19
resetting synapses that were overloaded. It's called the glymphatic system,
56:25
a kind of nighttime rinse cycle for your brain. Cerebrospinal
56:30
fluid flows more freely, removing waste products like amyloid beta,
56:35
the same sticky protein linked to Alzheimer's. You might think
56:39
nothing's happening, but in that silence, your brain is protecting
56:44
your future self. Then, as the night progresses, you drift
56:48
into REM sleep. This is where the emotional work begins.
56:53
Your brain revisits memories, but with less judgment. The amygdala,
56:58
the emotional alarm bell, is more active. And yet, something
57:04
strange happens. You replay difficult experiences, but without the full sting,
57:11
without the panic, as if your brain is trying to
57:13
repackage the pain into something survivable. This is emotional processing.
57:20
A kind of dream therapy, where your feelings are refiled
57:25
into less volatile shapes. That awkward moment from the meeting? Softened.
57:31
That burst of anxiety in the grocery aisle? Filed away.
57:35
That overwhelming joy from a friend's message? Saved for later.
57:40
You're not just dreaming. You're healing. And here's the secret.
57:45
Your brain decides what memories to keep and which to
57:48
let go while you sleep. Memories don't just arrive in
57:53
perfect form. They're fragile at first. Unstable. Held together like
57:58
a stack of leaves on a breezy table. Sleep stabilises them,
58:03
strengthens the important ones, releases the ones that no longer serve.
58:09
In one study, people who learned new skills, like finger-tapping
58:13
a piano pattern, improved more after a full night's sleep
58:17
than those who stayed awake. The brain had practised for
58:20
them silently. In another study, emotional memories, especially fearful ones,
58:27
were less distressing after REM sleep. the feeling was preserved.
58:32
But the threat had faded. Sleep, then, is a kind
58:36
of sculptor, shaving off the sharp edges, leaving behind a
58:41
smoother version of the day before. When sleep is healthy,
58:46
your mind feels clear. Memories stick. Feelings flow. Thoughts don't
58:51
repeat themselves as much. The world feels slightly more navigable.
58:57
But when sleep is broken, Even a little. The scaffolding collapses.
59:03
You forget what you were saying. You cry over nothing.
59:07
You snap at a loved one. Then wonder why... you
59:10
feel hollow inside. Sleep loss magnifies emotion. Not just sadness,
59:17
but irritation, insecurity, and even joy. It stretches feelings out
59:22
of proportion. Your brain can no longer regulate itself. It
59:27
becomes reactive. less reflective, more like a drum that rattles
59:32
with the lightest touch. And over time, this imbalance grows.
59:38
People who experience chronic sleep deprivation are more likely to
59:42
face anxiety, depression, and cognitive decline. Insomnia and mood disorders
59:49
are deeply entwined. They feed each other. One night of
59:54
bad sleep can heighten anxiety. That anxiety, in turn, Disrupts
1:00:00
the next night.
1:00:01
Speaker 1: A loop.
1:00:02
Speaker 2: Soft at first. Then tightening. But here's the beautiful truth.
1:00:08
Even partial sleep. A nap. A good night. A stretch
1:00:12
of quiet rest. Can begin to soothe the nervous system again.
1:00:16
Your brain remembers how to feel okay. It just needs time.
1:00:21
And rest. There's another layer too. The dreams you forget.
1:00:26
Some dreams you recall. Others vanish before your first blink,
1:00:30
but even forgotten dreams can leave behind a residue of insight,
1:00:35
a softened heart, a strange sense that something was worked through.
1:00:40
Dreams don't always tell stories. Sometimes they're just symbols, movements, colour,
1:00:48
a tone in your chest. They are emotional compost, helping
1:00:53
yesterday decay into wisdom. So what's happening right now As
1:00:58
you lie here, listening to these words, your brain is
1:01:03
preparing for its shift. The librarian is getting her keys.
1:01:08
The lights are dimming. Memories from today are floating upward,
1:01:12
some to be saved, some to be released. Emotions are
1:01:16
unfolding like paper, smoothed out, ready for understanding. Even as
1:01:22
you feel still, your mind is readying for one of
1:01:26
its most important jobs. making you whole again. Not by
1:01:30
doing more, but by letting go, you don't have to
1:01:34
relive everything tonight. Your brain will choose what matters, and
1:01:39
it will hold it gently, without asking you to explain.
1:01:43
This is the quiet generosity of sleep, the subtle grace.
1:01:48
It's not just a pause, it's a repair. So if
1:01:51
you've ever thought, I'm too tired to think, you were right.
1:01:56
Because your thinking comes from the rest that precedes it.
1:02:00
You're not broken. You're simply overdue. For the library to open.
1:02:05
For the shadows to be sorted. For the tide to
1:02:08
carry your thoughts. Back to where they belong. Close your
1:02:12
eyes now. If you haven't already. Let the thoughts blur.
1:02:17
Let the librarian work. Let sleep restore your memory. Soften
1:02:22
your feelings. And make space for one more gentle tomorrow.
1:02:26
there's something we often whisper to ourselves. When we're too
1:02:30
busy to lie down, too restless to close our eyes,
1:02:34
sleep can wait. It sounds noble, even productive, as if
1:02:39
wakefulness is where life happens, and sleep is where life
1:02:43
slips by. But tonight, I want to offer you a
1:02:47
quieter truth. Sleep isn't lost time. It's held time, a
1:02:53
gift you give yourself, again and again, without even remembering
1:02:58
how much it gives back. You don't need to earn it.
1:03:01
You don't need to fear it. You only need to
1:03:04
let go. So let's rest in this idea together. One
1:03:08
last soft segment before you drift. Out there, in the
1:03:14
bright world of daylight, everything is measured. Your calendar, your steps,
1:03:20
your achievements. Even your thoughts feel numbered. But sleep? Sleep
1:03:26
asks for nothing. No performance. No outcome. No proof of worth.
1:03:33
It simply says, lay down. Let the weight fall. Let
1:03:38
time soften. Let yourself become unimportant so you can return
1:03:43
feeling whole. It's easy to forget that nature sleeps too.
1:03:47
The moon doesn't shine constantly. The ocean doesn't rise forever.
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Even stars in their way go quiet when they die.
1:03:57
Everything rests. So why do we, the fragile humans, so
1:04:03
often resist the stillness? Maybe it's because we fear missing something,
1:04:08
or because we associate sleep with weakness, or because we've
1:04:11
been told that rest is the opposite of success. But
1:04:16
the science says otherwise. Sleep makes you more creative, more focused,
1:04:22
more emotionally balanced. more physically resilient. In one study, a
1:04:28
nap boosted problem solving better than caffeine. In another, athletes
1:04:34
who slept more ran faster, made fewer errors and felt
1:04:39
less pain. Even your heart beating quietly right now depends
1:04:44
on deep sleep to maintain its rhythm and prevent the
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wear and tear of stress. The quiet hours are not blank.
1:04:53
They're restorative. Microscopic miracles unfold while you lie still. Proteins fold.
1:05:00
Tissues heal. Hormones regulate. Immune cells patrol. Even your bones benefit,
1:05:08
as they rebuild, realign, and silently strengthen. Sleep is your
1:05:13
body's version of remembering who it is. And your mind?
1:05:18
It's not just dreaming. It's recomposing. Ideas that didn't make
1:05:23
sense during the day might link together in the night.
1:05:27
Connections emerge. Inspiration stirs. And in the morning, you sometimes
1:05:33
wake up with a solution you didn't know you were
1:05:36
looking for. All of this without lifting a finger. But
1:05:41
sleep does more than repair. It reminds you that you
1:05:44
are more than what you do. You are more than
1:05:47
the tasks you finish. More than the messages you answer.
1:05:52
More than the expectations. that hang like stars over your head.
1:05:57
You are a living thing, and living things rest. There's
1:06:01
no trophy for staying awake, no medal for pushing through fatigue.
1:06:06
There's just a quieter life, a softer one, waiting on
1:06:10
the other side of surrender. In this quiet, sleep becomes
1:06:14
a kind of trust. You lie down, not knowing exactly
1:06:19
what will happen, but believing you will wake whole. You
1:06:23
release the day, The thoughts, the failures, the unfinished tasks,
1:06:30
the difficult conversations, the doubts. You let them dissolve, not
1:06:36
because they're gone, but because they're no longer yours to
1:06:39
carry tonight. Sleep is a rhythm of forgiveness, of allowing
1:06:44
yourself to begin again. Even dreams, those swirling, strange worlds,
1:06:51
often come bearing small messages. You are still thinking. Still feeling.
1:06:57
Still processing. Even when you rest. And now, you're here.
1:07:03
At the end of this soft science lullaby. Not because
1:07:06
you finished something, but because you followed something gentle to
1:07:10
its natural close. You've walked through starlight and biology. Through
1:07:15
circadian clocks and emotional rainstorms. Through brainwaves and silent healing.
1:07:21
And you're still here.
1:07:23
Speaker 1: Breathing.
1:07:25
Speaker 2: Quiet, held as you close your eyes. If you haven't already,
1:07:30
know that nothing urgent exists in this moment. No decision
1:07:34
must be made. No task must be remembered. No thought
1:07:38
must be perfect. Only this, the rising and falling of
1:07:43
your breath, the gentle rhythm of a body ready to
1:07:46
repair itself. You're not behind. You're not late. You're right
1:07:51
on time for your own becoming. And when you wake,
1:07:56
whenever that may be, you'll carry something new. A sense
1:08:00
of being cared for by something inside yourself you never
1:08:04
had to control. Only trust. Sleep is not wasted time.
1:08:10
It is the time that saves you. So rest well now.
1:08:14
Let the thoughts melt. Let the body float. We'll be
1:08:18
here again, under another quiet topic, when you're ready to wander.
1:08:23
into the science of dreams once more. Good night from
1:08:27
Boring Science for Sleep. And may you wake, just a little,
1:08:33
more whole than when you closed your eyes.
1:08:58
Speaker 1: You you Thank you. Thank you. you you you you
1:17:09
Thank you.
1:18:35
Speaker 2: Thank you.
1:19:01
Speaker 5: You are the light of my life. You are the
1:19:14
light of my life.
1:19:46
Speaker 1: You Thank you. Thank you.
1:24:10
Speaker 6: Thank you for watching.
1:24:56
Speaker 1: You Thank you. Thank you.
1:29:28
Speaker 4: Thank you. you Thank you.
1:32:23
Speaker 1: Thank you.
1:34:04
Speaker 3: I'm sorry.
1:34:13
Speaker 1: I'm sorry. you you.
1:37:46
Speaker 1: Thank you. Thank you. So, you Thank you. Thank you.
1:44:56
Speaker 4: Thank you.
1:45:33
Speaker 1: You Thank you. Thank you.
1:49:32
Speaker 3: I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
1:50:05
Speaker 4: Thank you.
1:50:42
Speaker 1: You Thank you. Thank you.
1:55:14
Speaker 4: Thank you.
1:55:51
Speaker 1: You Amen. Thank you.
1:59:15
Speaker 6: Thank you.
2:00:16
Speaker 3: Thank you for watching.
2:01:01
Speaker 4: You Amen.
2:03:33
Speaker 1: Thank you. you you you.
2:05:33
Speaker 4: You you.
2:06:44
Speaker 1: Thank you. Thank you.