But it is Monday. I have a cold. I'm tired and just want to be in a warm bed. "Is empty really that bad? Could being empty be better than being full?" I rode this thought all the way to work. "Yes," I say quietly to myself. "Being empty means there is always room for more."
Fighting against emptiness has been a futile battle. How often I have waged this senseless war, looking for things, people and situations to fill a chasm within. This chilly, sleepy morning, I decide to rest on the shore of this emptiness. It laps gently at the edges of my awareness. As much as I want to sit and rest on the shore, stray thoughts pull me away. Maybe not thoughts. . . but feelings. Feelings come spinning out of the dark center of emptiness. They wash over me. "What are they trying to tell me?" Pulling myself closer to the emptiness, I gaze within it. A warm, soft darkness envelopes me. This emptiness is no stranger. Exhaling slowly, I float on a sea of nothing.
Outside, a soft mist sent from a leaden sky covers my windshield. Glancing at the speedometer, I note that I'm going the speed limit. A car behind me doesn't ride my bumper. Its speed matches my own. Lost in empty thoughts, time stood still. I was glad to discover that I had not. The rain stops. My wiper blades have nothing to sweep away. "Yes. Some times empty is a good thing."
Once again, I'm back on emptys shore. I remember the anxious ripples from a morning memory. An anxious father fumed over his son's ample use of maple syrup. I think he tries to control too much of what refuses to be contained. I think of the father and son, not the syrup. I left the house, chanting "Relax, relax."
I spoke more to myself than anyone else. Relaxing is hard in the company of the chronically anxious.
Inhaling, I image my anxiety flowing out of me and drifting away lost in the battleship sky. Enjoying its absence, I remember how much life has taught me about letting go. My enjoyment is fleeting as all enjoyment is. I focus on the memory of an anxious partner. I worry that he makes life harder than it already is. How did it happen that I became the more easy-going of our pairing? I never expected to be the more lenient, more playful, more flexible. Hadn't life tried to make me the authoritarian figure?
At times, I feebly try to live this role, to be the authority figure. It doesn't fit me. I tired easily, never forgetting what it feels like to be on the receiving end. I flashback to a feeling of oppression when I hear tirades about abandoned socks, stray legos, forgotten homework and lights left on. Some times, I rage too. It's really a waste of precious energy. Briefly, I tango with my frustration about the morning's maple syrup. In that anger, I must confront my own inability to "let go."
Heavy thoughts fill the once empty void I was trying to enjoy. These thoughts, I release into the gun metal sky. They float heavenward like a sacrificial offering to a better self. The emptiness returns. I sink into its soft warmth and turn on a neon "DO NOT DISTURB" sign. It mentally flashes across my mind for all the world to see. If, only the world could see it.
The day does not. It comes knocking. "Go away!", I yell.
It doesn't listen. The students around me now are either too active or not active enough. I do what I can to encourage or squelch their behavior and then let it go. Some days, I feel almost invisible. Maybe, I am an apparition, floating in and out of the physical world. Maybe, one foot is trapped in another dimension. I think of the transmutation of energy. The thought captures me and carries me away. It appeals to my Monday frame of mind. Is this another way to fill the emptiness or is it what rushes in when one clears the space? I may never know.
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