You Feel It Too?

You feel it too? The infinite possibilities of the day. Anything and everything imaginable and even those things that aren’t could happen at any moment. And somewhere in the universe of possibilities lies the answer to the unasked question in your heart. Do you feel it too?

Dan asked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had said these words every morning since the second anniversary of her passing. It was when he had realized that she wasn’t coming back.

It was the first day of the retreat at Menla during the workshop that Laina, who was leading the group, said, “We are souls having a human experience.” And in that moment he knew for certain that Norma, at least her soul, was still out there and he, having shared a lifetime and grown from two into a single being, had become so entangled, yes quantum entangled, that he was just on the still human side of the equation and that she was on the other side.

So he would check in with her each morning as he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror of the house that they had grown old together in.

One of the unintended consequences of this morning mantra was that he paid attention. Looking for the unimaginable in each moment of the day. It kept him present, as his new friends in Pause to be Present would say.

It was just 6:30. As was his routine, he took off his Apple Watch and put it on the charger and walked into the kitchen barefoot, feeling the cool floor underneath, and put the coffee pot on. He then walked back to the dining room, moved the scale out from under the chair, and weighed himself. Trying not to feel too guilty that he had gained instead of lost a pound from yesterday’s lack of activity.

He adjusted his thinking and rearranged his day’s schedule in his head and would do the exercises his trainer had texted him before the yoga class he had already planned to attend this Friday morning. His teacher Suzie had become a dear friend and had recommended the Pause meditation group he sat with most mornings.

As he added coconut milk to his coffee, he watched it bloom from black to dark brown and walked barefoot to the dining room. This morning, like the day before and the day before that, he would sit at the little secretary desk and write. The desk she had used to store her bracelets, necklaces, and rings. Many of which he had purchased for her as he traveled from city to city for his job. He had given them away to his sister, daughters-in-law, and to his granddaughter, but there was still a box full sitting in a drawer in his office.

His writing varied. He wrote poetry, trying to find words that would nestle together on the page and sound as if they had always been together. He wrote short pieces about trips he had taken as a child, reliving past moments populated with people who were only alive in memories.

He stared at the screen and pulled up the unfinished book he had been working on since his awakening that her human form would not return to hold him in her arms and return his kisses with her soft lips. The book was a record of his journey and a companion to share the steps and missteps he had stumbled through with others like him. Spouseless and frozen.

It was almost 8 am and the Pause to be Present meditation would begin on Zoom. He walked to the living room and set up his seat made of yoga blocks and a throw that his wife used to keep her warm when she lay on the couch. He positioned the iPad on a low table so it would be at the proper height and logged on to the site.

All of the teachers brought something different to these 30-minute sessions. On Monday, Karen had shown photos of her trip to Bhutan. Cindy opened the session by greeting each of the people on the call by name and smiling her enjoyment as she moved from person to person. Dan felt the virtual hug as she said his name.

Cindy spoke of the Cold Moon, the name that Native Americans living in teepees and longhouses called this December full moon. She said friends that study astrology had told her that the Cold Moon was a time to leave behind what no longer served you and observe what was left.

Smiling broadly, she said, “I wanted to share with you my own transition. About ten days ago I experienced a dip, and I think we all go through these. They aren’t bad or good. It was a loss of energy and I had work and family commitments. I realized that it was related to the fact that I was stopping programs that I led for years and giving myself time to do things I had wanted to. The dip was caused by leaving behind the sense of purpose I had in these programs and being in a period where I had yet to begin the things I wanted to do with this free time.”

Dan thought about the first lines he had written today. You feel it too? The infinite possibilities of the day. Anything and everything imaginable and even those things that aren’t could happen at any moment. And somewhere in the universe of possibilities lies the answer to the unasked question in your heart. Do you feel it too?

He reflected that Cindy was so self-aware. He thought about the Buddha calling himself awakened, and as any poet would, began to sort the words in his head, imagining how they might fit together and the different meanings each assembly would have. Aware. Awake. Alive. Or alive and unconscious. Aware and then becoming awakened. Or finally: Awakened, aware, and alive. It dawned on him that meditation gave you the space to quiet the mind and awake to the possibilities, just like the words he would mumble at the mirror.