Do you ever laugh about how dramatic you are? An essay on meditation and time.

And the movie I wish I watched this week.

Last night I had a dream that someone paid $500 for a yearly Substack subscription to On The Verge.  In the dream it gave me a renewed sense of purpose.  In the dream I was ecstatic. I ran down the stairs to tell my husband about it, as if to say, See, I am doing a good job.  When I woke up, the feeling of doing meaningful work stuck with me.  As the dream fog wore off and I tossed and turned to the voice of my daughter asking me if it was morning yet - it was - the feeling of accomplishment turned into anxiety.  Nobody had paid that much for my work and if I wanted someone to I would have to hurry up and write something.  

At about that time, my cat came into the room and my daughter took it as a sign to move along with her own busy day.  “Come on, Tommy.  Let’s go,” she said as she made her way to the bathroom.  I heard her little feet go down the stairs with Tommy following behind her, then the muffled jingle of cat food hitting the bowl, then a second later, the familiar soundtrack of the PJ Masks.  Normally, I would rush downstairs to stop her from using the screen this early in the day.  I have tremendous guilt for rotting their brains with tv and ipad games throughout the pandemic.  This morning I let it slide because I could already feel the tug and pull of never ending tasks and I needed a minute.  Twenty to be exact.  I set my three pillows up against the wall, drank a sip of water on the nightstand and closed my eyes to meditate.  

Historically, my meditations have been calming, relaxing, a nice way for me to remember that I am more than sack of bones and flesh.  I am part of the universal consciousness, as perfect and intelligent as the trees and plants around me.  In those meditations I forget that I have hands, feet and sometimes legs.  I float above my bed and just exist.  I could understand why people said they were levitating.  At some point in deep meditation your awareness shifts from localized awareness to something far beyond.  I call it going to space.  Space is much nicer than the constant buzz of things to do, people to see, projects to finish, laundry to fold, thank you cards to write and mail out, and whatever else is waiting for it’s 15 minutes.