Basket Full of Stones: Delights of Ordinary No. 3

These are just the ordinary beats of life – the charming old mornings, half-opened eyes, going back to sleep, dreaming again. Somewhere birds are chirping. A sense of cool amber dawn intense-ing. A feeling of something renewed. You call this transitional state – ‘Hypnopompia,’ which happens before we wake up.

Fredric William Mayers coined this term. He was an English poet and also a psychical researcher. It is a state of consciousness leading out of sleep. Yet, even if we know what this state is called, it will hardly make a difference to us when we have to wake up tomorrow or the day after or a week after.

I understand that in this ordinary life, it is the most ordinary stuff that is only to be felt deeply. I would feel a different sort of ‘hyp-no-pompia’ every morning. Somedays, it is a sloth-resembling effort and other days a snail-resembling one while other days a chirping happy sunrise.

I hope that with ‘hypno-pompia’ occurring each morning you will have some beautiful days stacked. Not baskets full of stones but sunnier and even shinier paths! Yet even when your days are gloom-laden you will surely see through it. It may not be a promise but I sense that it will shape itself to find a way out from the exotic turmoils of life. And it is a good thing.

All the more it is said that life makes less meaning if all is nothing but a flourishing space. If there are no pains and no hard discoveries we are bound to become stout and plump. Not a good thing if you have to do life adequately in this world. As much as I hope for sunshine and brighter days in my vanity it also needs some turmoil and harder grounds.

Just to ponder on what a comfortable life, in general, can do to us – be it plants and trees, pets and animals and us humans, I happen to read author Peter Wohlleben’s piece from the book The Hidden Life of Trees,

“It’s no surprise that spruce growing in areas with abundant moisture are [affected so adversely by dry conditions]: they are spoiled. Barely half a mile away, on a dry, stony, south-facing slope, things look very different. At first, I had expected damage to the spruce trees here because of severe summer drought. What I observed was just the opposite. The tough trees that grow on this slope are well versed in the practices of denial and can withstand far worse conditions than their colleagues who are spoiled for water. Even though there is much less water available here year round — because the soil retains less water and the sun burns much hotter – the spruce growing here are thriving. They grow considerably more slowly, clearly make better use of what little water there is, and survive even extreme years fairly well.” 

And the world treats everyone equally, to the spruce trees, you and me and all of us. It comes down to the summer droughts that are behind our agility and thriving. And in some cases, if we are vigilant enough, then it even refines our character.

That is why ‘hyp-no-pompia’ is a wonder every morning. The bright summers or summer drought, no days are equal and so are no mornings. Every morning waking up is a new experience. In the words of Murakami, “Whether you want to or not. But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.

That is why returning to your bed and waking up is never the same. And also that spruce tree will never be the same. And neither will you be. The only catch is we learn to cherish the summer droughts, and how much painful they may be.

Yet, I wish you brighter shinier days.

Love,

Anugrayh 

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