Loss of consciousness...

Have you ever experienced a moment when you experienced absolute and total clarity? I'm talking about a true Zen experience of being fully aware and in the "now". I would like to say that I was even remotely close to this on days like my wedding day or when I gave birth to my babies but in actuality those moments are too clouded with emotional noise, sensory overload and medication to appear truly clear to me.

Lately I've been struggling to find some clarity, some sense of Peace, a renewed spirituality.

I feel a little lost when I think about going to Mass. I want to have that thrill again when I sing the Alleluia. I have at times been so caught up in what was "good" or "bad" liturgy that I lost track of why I was there at all. Religion can happen like that.

I am less than a little thrilled about my job, which at one time brought me a lot of joy. Grateful to have a job? Absolutely. End of the year anxiety? Definitely. Just now, while I was writing, I felt a little twinge of it...Next school year...can't wait to make it the best ever...The old idiom rings true: Life is what happens while we're busy making plans. "I'll get to that after school ends", "I'll take care of that after work tonight", "Next year, I can't wait to try this..."

Moving back into our home, I anticipated shaking this foggy feeling. Please understand, I've had my moments. Running around in the backyard last weekend taking pictures of every flower I could see being one of them, but I still feel a little claustrophobic. I little choked. I'm waiting for something but I'm not sure what. Sunshine maybe?

The incessant rain drives me to listen to some Stevie Ray Vaughn, The Sky is Crying. I think of the Gulf and the destruction of our Oceans. I pull out an old painting by Portland artist Maurice Herinckx, Fixing a Hole (in the Ocean). It is dark and quite disconcerting. I digress.

It's easy to bring myself down. In a silly sick way, when I begin to ponder these things and let myself get a little blue, I begin to get motivated and pick myself up. I can remember a time in my life when I felt absolute clarity.

I was living at the Caterwaul house in Phoenix. (Caterwaul was a band but more importantly a wonderful group of friends I lived with in the early 80's) I was laying on a couch in the dining room that we had converted into a sitting room since none of us ever sat down at a table to actually eat. I was staring out the window at a lovely tree that stood between the house and the canal. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and sparkled. No, really, it sparkled, like on the ocean or when you squint your eyes just so and stare at a hot parking lot. It was warm in the house but not too hot yet so it must have been early in the year, like February. I was listening to Cocteau Twins. I was wearing a blue dress that had been my stage uniform for Sundance!, the college glee troupe I sang in. Yes, the exclamation point belongs at the end of Sundance! It was loose and flowy and not entirely flattering, a lot like my vocals. I was so amazingly comfortable I thought to myself, I wonder if I can remember this exact moment forever. There was nothing spectacular about that moment. I've been laying on one couch or another many many times since. Yet, I believe at that moment, I was able to experience absolute clarity. I'll remember it in all of it's pure, palpable, mellow glory. If I close my eyes, I am instantly there.

The most important thing about that moment is that I took the initiative and recognized the moment for what it was. I paused, I reflected, I pondered and decided to hold that moment with me. I wish I had done that for more important moments in my lifetime. I imagine one day, when dementia has fully settled in someone will visit me at the home and say "Hey Mom, remember me?" and I'll say "No, but do you remember the way the sunlight dappled through the canal tree and spilled onto the couch?"