Sleepless in Worcester

Awake at three a.m. with a mind not interested in rest, I try not to wish my life away. Appreciating life is easy on a sunny afternoon that is unseasonably warm and spring’s first flowers are poking out of the frozen ground, but it’s a little more challenging in these places where we clearly wish it were otherwise. This morning’s too early awakeness is not terrible, just inconvenient and slightly irritating.

I have a strict rule with myself that I don’t get up at these times. Anything before 4:30 is still night. I reason that even lying awake in bed has some restorative qualities so I don’t get up and start writing or reading or meditating. I stay where I am and try to be patient and gently interested. Is a particular place my thoughts are going? What is it like to lie in bed and want to go to sleep? What is there in this familiar place that I have never noticed before?

Sometimes I think of an old woman I once saw in a documentary film about the lives of people who were Japanese National Living Treasures. She was a weaver and must have been in her eighties or nineties. Her health was poor and her vision was deteriorating. She said she often woke very early and lay awake in the dark before someone would come to help her get up. She claimed she didn’t mind this at all. With a twinkle in her eye, she said that she listened to the birds and lay there excited with the knowledge that soon she would be able to get out of bed and sit at her beloved loom again.

She came to me again last night. She is always kind and gentle. Comparing myself to her, I see how young and impatient I really am. Apparently, I am a slow learner. I write and I teach and I practice Zen and walk attentively in the garden because I don’t yet get it. I mean, I can say the right things and point in directions that people find sometimes useful, but I, myself, am still a work-in-progress.

The great abstract expressionist Willem de Kooning painted huge canvases and would spend weeks, months, and even years on the same painting. Over this time, there was a lot of painting, but there was much more just looking. Even after it was nearing completion, he would spend hours and hours smoking cigarettes and just staring at what was in front of him. I suppose he was trying to figure out what he was doing and what, if anything, to do next. I still appreciate his tenacious patience and wonder if I should take up smoking. Probably not.

This morning, I longed to release back into sleep but some part of my brain clung obstinately to consciousness. Looking around for things to think about, I started thinking about this book I am working on and came up with a provisional title. The book will be a second collection and arrangement of these daily writings. For now, I’m calling it: How to Live: Consolations, Reveries and Reflections. But since I also have a rule not to turn on the light and didn’t have a pen handy anyway, I repeated it to myself over and over in hopes of not forgetting.

I liked it better in the dark early morning, but even in the light I still think it captures some of my intention and describes some of what the book will be. I’m glad I remembered it and wonder if I should consider changing some of my rules so I don’t keep myself awake trying to remember all my good ideas.