Man, I should have gone to bed a long time ago.
It isn’t really that late, but it feels like it’s almost dawn. This is a man who’s gone to bed between 3:00 – 3:45 a.m. every night for a spell. I can’t remember how many days it’s been, which means I ought to stop. It seems okay to be exhausted, though.
This morning, for the second day in a row, I sat out back for at least 90 minutes, soaking up the sun and, well, meditating, I guess. This is something I’ve gotten into quite spontaneously over the last few months, using the most basic technique there is, watching my breath. That’s it, that’s all I do — and let my thoughts float down the stream. Now, anyone who knows me understands I’m no ascetic and take my pleasure seriously when I’m not insane. The point is, I wouldn’t be doing this if it didn’t feel good. This isn’t like flossing my teeth! It’s the Ultimate Freebie.
What happens is I sit there and breathe, focusing on my nose. If I can wrestle my attention down and hold it at that spot, my thoughts drop to a whisper in the background. If I listen to any of them, the volume comes back up, and I’m off and running. A moment, a second later I snap out of it and go back to my breath. This goes back and forth until I get a few seconds of silence here and there. These must add up, because all at once it’s like I’m holding open a door with my attention, and out there is a whole new space. A whole new quality or dimension.
There’s something to this, and it’s BIG, kids.
Birds flew closer to me while I sat there today. Even while focusing on my breath, I noticed how each species had a different-sounding wing beat. In just a few minutes I was identifying incoming birds by the frequency of the sound of the displaced air. That never would have happened while I was following my thoughts. Jesus, what else is falling through the cracks?
Sometimes now I watch my breath when I’m walking or driving, or even when I’m listening to my wife. It just sort of happens, and I do it. A couple of times I’ve even caught myself starting to slip into an evil condition and stopped it by feeling the air in my nose.
Man, this must sound awfully weird.
“NEXT!”
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You look pretty well-preserved for such an old coot. If you were a hockey player you’d be in the penalty box on account of looking so good. If you were an R.C. you’d be in the confession box for the sin of vanity. Last laid eyes on you 45 years ago. A few knobs on the forehead and a few rumples around the eyes are to be expected. Funny thing is that when I was 17 I always wanted to look like I was 60 – careworn, experienced, disabused. Now that I’ve headed north of 60 it seems sort of nice to once have been smooth, unmarked and guileless. Nature of the human beast is to never be at peace with what he actually is. (Maybe that maxim doesn’t apply to you. Does to me.)