Green Oasis

Lately, I have had for a constant companion an emotion for which I have no name. It defies easy description. I can’t even describe it well to myself, distilling my feelings into words and concepts. It’s easier to describe its effects than the emotion itself. Unlike other emotions which wane when examined too closely, it persists dancing seductively out of reach of my analytical mind. Even as I write this, I feel it.

I look at a coworker’s shirt, and the deep shades of blue conjure this emotion. I feel tempted to daydream in shades of blue and lose myself in the womb of my mind.

I lie sleeplessly in my bed next to my wife. I feel my stomach rising and falling in the slow rhythm of my breathing, the air flowing in and out of my lungs. I feel a knowing connection with my childhood self. I remember dreams and fantasies that occupied my mind when I was young.

I am ailing with a persistent cough and congestion, but I am content. A subtle, soft joy fills my lungs as I breathe.

My heart melts at the slightest provocation: the dimples in my daughter’s cheeks, my wife’s skin under my hand, a child’s song, the taste of my morning tea, the sun on my face.

The halls of my mind feel cleansed of the cobwebs and cruft of years of willful neglect. I feel pleasantly empty, like the scent of a kitchen floor that has just been mopped after months of procrastination or the clear view of newly washed windows. It feels like the lack of something that obscured my view.

I feel poised on the verge of… some unnameable, visionary place full of imagination, love, and joy. I feel like I am rediscovering something I forgot when I left childhood and got lost in my fears and my own notions of reality.

When I was a kid, I used to love to daydream about being really small, like the Borrowers (or the knockoff The Littles who were Borrowers with tails), only a little bit smaller. I would imagine how I would survive, what I would eat, where I would live, etc. In my mind’s eye, I would build tree forts, or burrows below the bushes, or holes in the walls. I imagined harvesting food and re-purposing human trash. Everywhere I went, I could look around and wonder what it would be like to live there as a tiny human being. My everyday surroundings assumed a new, exotic dimension.

My imaginings served no great purpose that I could see. I would never be that small, no matter how much fun I thought it would be, so my daydreams weren’t preparing me just in case I got zapped by cosmic rays or bitten by radioactive spiders. My thoughts weren’t exploring the frontiers of human thought or helping anyone to find meaning in life. My thoughts weren’t for a purpose; they were just for fun.

Now that I’m an adult, I spend a lot of time doing things. I use my thinking time to accomplish something. I only have so much time as a conscious being on this planet, so I have to learn and do as much as I can while I can. I have to do and think Important Things. I have set Important Goals. My dreams have to be about contributing significantly to the world, leaving behind a memorable legacy.

As I took a quick walk across campus (to clear my head so I could finish up some reports), I looked around and remembered those hours spent daydreaming as a child about being a little person. I wondered what I would do to survive if I lived over in those bushes below the pine trees. What would I make my house out of? How would I defend myself from the birds and the feral cats? Where would I get food? How would I avoid people?

I let go of doing and thinking significant things for just a moment. For a moment, I thought trivial thoughts just for the fun of it and felt a weight lift off my shoulders.