THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY SIX - WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE

Today’s prompt:

Okay, close your eyes. Maybe lie down so you’re cozy? A blanket is nice. Okay. What do you see? At first, it’s dark in there. But if you really look, you will start to see pictures. Maybe it’s a bear with claws, or an ice cream cone, or a memory. Like, cuddling your mom. Maybe it’s words, like LOVE or DANCING. Sometimes it’s just tickly lights. Whatever you see, write about it. Really explain it until it becomes a story. I like to draw what I see, too. 

Wild and Precious Life

This morning, when I saw today’s prompt, I felt both dread and excitement. Dread because it sounded a little like meditation, which I’m terrible at. Excitement because it gave me permission to go into my bedroom, lie down, and close my eyes, which I’m awesome at.

It’s 7:30 in the evening. I’ve finally logged off my work computer. It’s been 12 hours since I logged on. As a lawyer, I spend most of my waking hours answering questions, reviewing documents, fixing problems. It’s exhausting. I’m looking forward to lying down in my bed and closing my eyes.

The moment I hit the bed, dread enters the room.

“I’m bad at meditating,” I think.

“Quiet your mind,” my mind says.

“Uh, do you not see the irony?” I think.

“Quiet your mind,” my mind repeats.

“It feels so good to be lying down,” I think.

Excitement enters the room. My spine settles into the mattress. The ache eases from my neck. The day’s pressures lift from my body.

“Don’t fall asleep,” my mind says.

“What?” I think.

“Don’t fall asleep,” my mind repeats.

“Wait, are you judging me?” I think.

“I’ve just seen this movie a thousand times before,” my mind says. “You’re ‘closing my eyes for just a moment,’ and then before you know it, the alarm clock is buzzing off the hook, and your contact lenses are super-glued to your eyes.”

“So, you are judging me,” I think.

My mind is quiet.

I breathe in.

I breathe out.

“What do you see?” my mind asks softly.

“Wait, this isn’t dread talking. Who is this?” I ask.

My mind is quiet.

“This is excitement, right?” I ask.

Quiet.

I don’t see anything with my eyes closed. Just blackness and emptiness and void. And then, occasionally, a random flash. A ghostly-green bubble here. A golden lightning bolt there. Tiny constellations of silver dots everywhere.

Suddenly, I remember my friend telling me about her trip to see the Northern Lights. She told me how, after several days of disappointment, she had reconciled herself to not seeing anything. The tour guides had warned her that nothing was a guarantee. It was all up to nature – a luck of the draw.

On the last night of the tour, just when she was about to give up hope, she saw them: the swirling miracle of colors in the sky. She ran to the cabins to alert her tour-mates. And they all shared in the miracle with her.

My mind returns to the present. To the bed beneath my body. To the air filling my lungs. To the aroma of the dinner that awaits me momentarily. And I’m reminded of the words of Mary Oliver, the words that always bring tears to my eyes, no matter how many times I read them:

I don't know exactly what a prayer is

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?