GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS OF LIVING: 

Drifting Through Life

Where am I when I am not conscious? 

I sometimes notice, especially now that I am meditating regularly, that there are many times when I am not present consciously.  I take a deep breath, focus on my breathing, and watch my thoughts come and go.  Suddenly I awaken to a sense of wonder—sometimes frustration—as I realize time has passed and I have no idea what I’ve been thinking about or doing in those moments.  I’m not aware of the silent peaceful place I hoped to find.  I may feel heaviness, anxiety, or have a smile on my face, but I have no sense of what was happening when I was gone.

Once when I was traveling from Cheboygan to Farmington Hills to visit my family, I “woke up” and found my surroundings familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time.  I was confused until I saw the freeway sign announcing Orchard Lake Road one mile.  I went from mild confusion to shock and awe.  My last memory was backing out of my driveway in Cordwood Point outside of Cheboygan to begin my five-hour drive. Where was I while my physical body was driving the car, stopping for gas and lunch, now soon to arrive at my destination?  Who was doing the driving?  No dents on the car, no ticket—just receipts for gas and the food that I had no memory of eating.  I’ve talked to others who experience similar times.  I believe most of us, if we were more fully conscious more of the time, would realize we also have times when our body is acting so-called normally while our mind is someplace else.  I believe we often are not even aware this is happening—until the embarrassing question of an acquaintance calls us back to the now. 

It definitely happens in conversation.  Have you ever experienced “awakening” to hear the person you’ve been engaged in conversation with asking, “What do you think?”  You realize you have no idea what has been said or even what the topic is, so you smile and say something general—maybe “I agree” or “That’s sounds good” or just “uh huh”—and leave it at that. 

Or maybe, you’ve been the one talking, sharing some exiting detail about your recent trip.  Five or ten minutes later, your friend says, “Tell me about your trip.  Did you have a good time?”  Where were they when their body was standing in front of you?  And who are we?  Our minds or our bodies?

Or maybe you’ve been doing something around the house--cleaning, building a bookcase—while your favorite CD is playing background music.  Suddenly you hear the silence, but do not remember anything but the first song—not even the whole song.  Yet the entire CD has played, your job is nearly finished, but were you actually conscious of doing the work or hearing the music? 

How much of our lives is spent living consciously?  How much of real living do we miss, because we are so often unaware?

I remember friends and family coming to visit me in my home on Lake Huron.  How often someone would sit at my table, staring out the window at the birdfeeder, the large pine and oak trees, and Lake Huron just 60 feet away, and comment, “Wow!  I couldn’t live here.  I’d never get anything done.  I’d just sit and stare out the window.  It’s so beautiful!”  That and similar comments would give me a sharp nudge as I suddenly wondered, when was the last time I really saw out the window?  When did I last hear the waves brush the shore? Or the song of the warbler?  When did I consciously feel the warm sun kiss my cheek or the wind in my hair?  How often was I—am I—going through the motions of living without truly living my life’s story?

I doubt I’ll ever know the answer to my question.  Like Rainer Maria Rilke, I prefer to “Have patience with everything unresolved in (my) heart, and try to love the questions themselves.”  I also trust that I will “someday live into the answer.”  To do that I must learn to live more consciously, live more aware of life’s little moments as well as the grand ones.