Today I woke up feeling out of sorts. A culmination of days feeling uneasy in my skin. I open one eye to look around — it’s morning. The activity outside my window signals the beginning of another day. I close my eyes, trying to shutout the inevitable. “It’s okay, no need to hurry,” I hear a little voice say. Looking for comfort, I listen. –
I close my eyes again. So many times before this was comfort. Escape. A little refuge. But the film starts to play — unending scenes of you-should-haves and if-onlys, spliced together so flawlessly I feel a grudging respect towards this beautiful editing. I watch this film play, trying to understand the message, to figure out where one ends and the other begins — untangling all the little details that doesn’t add up. Yet the more I try to give attention, the more I am sucked in this head vacuum. I slowly become the scriptwriter, unknowingly working with this editor I have yet to fully understand. A chirping of the bird outside pulls me out. It’s morning, a new day. And this old film is playing. One, I realize now, I’ve watched a million times before. No, I really don’t want to watch this today. –
So I force my eyes to open. Both eyes. The sunny blue skies blind me for a few seconds and I’m tempted to close them again. I did. & then I open. & then close. I do this for I don’t know how long. Feeling my skin. It has come to this. Closed eyes is the film (what used to be a refuge is no longer one). Open eyes is the light. –
I new understanding comes. I heard it said, ground yourself in your senses. In the past, I would have ignored this completely. Being in your head does have its benefits — the limitations of time, relationships, space, senses, self are so easy to ignore. In your head, you are the master. Or… you start as the master. And then somehow… left to your own devices, you become the slave. –
A feeling of a fragile peace comes to me. I am this body. Grounded: I hear the loud sound outside of metal hitting metal. I feel the bumps in my arm from a mosquito bite. I taste the dryness of my mouth. I smell the unscented humid air. This is the present. The gift of the now when I choose to open both eyes.
