Nothing

I love doing nothing. I have vivid memories of long hours in my backyard, sitting on the grass peeling leaves, or on my back feeling the earth revolve beneath me in the summer. Or taking very deliberate steps in the fresh snow, imagining I was the first to step in that snow. Staring into the brilliance until I became white blind. On the swing as high as I could swing for as long as I could until I entered some kind of altered state of mind. Lonely at times, I also know how to be content alone, comfortable with silence and idleness.

The next part of my life that enriched my spiritual silence was surprisingly in the Army, Fort Dix New Jersey. My body was kept busy, sleep was inadequate, but my mind had little to do, as I spent much time waiting, or marching. I learned to love the beauty of dawn, watched geese flying over, the red blue flashlights swinging through the pre dawn dark of early marches. I came to feel rather than see when my platoon was in step, we all must have because by the end of the two months, thirty women marching in boots sounded like one woman walking quietly. We responded as one to commands, a strange kind of alertness that was like meditation. Cadences shouted- sung filled the mind like a mantra, keeping out the whining that I was always prone to. When I ran, in pain and exhaustion, I chanted "I'm young, I'm strong, I'm health-y" and the pain faded. I could feel the earth pushing back at my steps, giving me a push forward. I took satisfaction in having all my uniform hangers three finger widths apart, all my buttons buttoned, hat straight. Hugging the earth at the ranges, which kept me out of the wind screeing off the ocean smelt but not seen.

Out in the wind, we would huddle around the smallest thinnest women to warm them, rub arms and backs to warm each other, put woolen socks in the webbing of our helmets to keep the wind from whistling around our heads. I was outside more than I had ever been in my life, at least in October November and December. The fall leaves were brilliant, the mud constant, the cold a presence like the pain. But there was no escape, only acceptance, and the duty of taking care of each other. My feet went numb during bivouac, and that was that. No excuses, no gratitude, doing and letting the mind follow, the only way out was through. Laying in my bunk at night listening to people breathing, knowing who was on night CQ by the sound of their footsteps. We reeked of Ben Gay, and one CQ sergeant would always say,

"Smells like my Grandmother in here!"

At first startled- waking to companies shouting outside as they marched past our barracks through the night, later I slept reassured by those sounds. Field stripping an M16 blind, yes I still could -I am sure. Just as I could always hit what I aimed at with one. My meddling busy mind was too tired to care, so I simply got on with the work at hand. Payment would come later, but I learned what I could do, and I understood how strong a quiet mind is. Nothing in busyness.

When I started back to school at the U. I was very alone, isolated by my attitude and precarious position. Too much silence, but no one to be quiet with. Until I found myself again at the whim of the government, and I found D. Waiting in Colorado to be sent to Saudi Arabia, we spent many hours sitting with our backs leaning together, sometimes talking or reading, or as often simply being together. The gift of silence, shared. Doing nothing, we built a haven together. Out on the bleachers for the parade field, I was recovering from a bad sinus infection, and fell asleep in the sun with my head on his lap. Such peace. Him finally asleep on the concrete, on my lap as we waited in the underground garage in Kobar for the C130 to take us to our housing outside Riyadh. I watched him like a vicious dog guarding her master, lest anyone think it funny to do anything to him. Because being on guard and alert is part of meditation, oblivious to the irritation, acutely aware of danger.

After such a difficult move, with too much to do, this week my mind is insisting on nothing. If I try to push myself into thinking, my thoughts collapse. My body hurts, my brain aches. But the words this week have been gushing out, pouring onto the screen. A deep desire to communicate while I can only do nothing. I idle, and orient. As long as I do nothing.