“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” Antoine de Saint-Exupery
A couple of mornings ago, I woke up and no, that’s not the story. My routine is beyond set in stone, it is goddamn Neolithic. To me, sleeping through the night has me waking around 3:50AM. A quick trip to the loo is number one. Yes, it is for that same numerical reason, as well.
God willing, I am back to sleep ’til somewhere around 6 or so. It is definitely number one time, yet again. I grab my seriously, deranged robe and head to the kitchen for a fast glass of water. Throwing two glassfuls into the electric pot, I head over to my cushion for my 25 minute Zen sit.
When time is up, preceded by at least one check on elapsed time, a Zen sacrilege, I say a couple of Japanese prayers, following by reciting the Four Vows in English. I get up, slowly, inch walking away, back to the altar. After a few steps from the cushion, I flip around, facing the altar, hands brought together in prayer. I do a quick three bows, accordioning to my knees each time, forehead resting on the ground. I love bowing, but that’s for another time.
After this ritual, it’s time for the next one, making coffee. I flip on the already, watered pot, reaching for the cup, the strainer and a tablespoon. I grab the coffee from the fridge and dig in for two, healthy spoonfuls. Once the trusty pot clicks off, I start pouring the water into the strainer, snuggly atop the cup.
Although, I’ve never bothered to count, I’ll bet it takes at least 10 small pours, until the cup is java filled. Next, it’s a short walk to my desk, where I pretty much live when I am home. Now that I think of it, I am perched there for virtually all my waking hours..
That morning, I kind of stopped, in between coffee and the desk. Maybe, we’re talking about ten, small steps, which I just retraced, because, you guessed it, I am sitting at the damn desk. I was struck by a very unusual sight, very unusual. The sun was just rising, which it always does, surprise. Shockingly, it had moved all the way to my right! I never noticed, it had been making its annual trek across the sky, from the overhead, summer heat rays, to the diffuse angles of fall.
Every now and then, I’ll have these flashes regarding the unfathomable size of the universe and our being nothing more than a barely, visible speck of dust. I think most of us look up at the sky and think of it as some gorgeous and mysterious umbrella, offering a sense of cosmic security. During the day, it can be an electric blue, infinitely porous blanket of possibility and at night, a lightless still painting, alive with all the stars of one’s imagination.
I often wonder if there is anyway to capture the attention of this horribly fractionated world of ours. Of course, these are moments of fantasy, because that is simply a ridiculous idea, no matter how well intentioned.
I am easy to please, so there is plenty of wiggle room between the jarringly, stark truth and an incredibly modest imagination, which would be mine.
I had a number of days to think about the sun deciding to move over, announcing a change in the season. I didn’t do any research, feeling much happier to make up facts to carry forward what I wanted to say. I instantly had a message in mind, but I needed the words to get me there.
I have been sitting on that morning cushion every day for over thirty years and, all by itself, it has allowed my mind to do some travelin’. Looking at the sun, reminded me of how I try and imagine the size of the universe. How could something have no end? Honestly, I don’t understand how that is possible. Then, on the other hand, if there is an end, what’s on the other side?
In the early days of astronomy, we were thought to be the center of all we knew at the time. While it was scientifically disproven, I am afraid to say some of it has stayed with us. Where are the voices of humility, the awe at being part of something immeasurable, beyond definition?
The sun rises, continually migrating across the sky, our cathedral of the infinite. I don’t know why this doesn’t seem to matter at all to most of us. Maybe, if we started thinking we are part of something incredibly huge, more complex than we could ever imagine, we’d hesitate before doing half the shit we do to each other and this planet.
NASA just released a study and it postulates something called the Great Filter theory, like it was purposely published to tuck into this story of mine. The reason why we have been unable to detect intelligent life elsewhere is because it has been killed off due to climate disruptions or pandemics or artificial intelligence or at its own hand, an affliction of intra-species conflict. What is happening here has already happened elsewhere.
The echo of our actions travels at least 10 billion light years from here, returning before it has left. I don’t know what they’ll say about us after we’ve gone. I do know our legacy needs lots of work.
If that damn sun would stop moving, we could make some real progress, lighting the way for the heart to see.