The Deep Questions

by Christopher Lovejoy on October 9, 2011

I was alive, awake, aware, and alert to my presence in the world all night long.

I knew that my pattern of sleeping and waking was getting erratic, but I was a firm believer in doing what came naturally, spontaneously, effortlessly. Go with the flow, be here now.

At the first hint of dawn, I emerged from my bath and headed northeast, towards the easternmost point on the island.

Along the way, I made a mental note of some giant leaves, thinking how suitable they would be for making beds of leaves – one near my hammock and one inside my cave.

When I arrived, I stood ankle-deep in lukewarm water, facing the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise.

In the meantime, I meditated on my place in the world ~ on where I had been and where I thought I was going. I pondered the deep questions: Who am I? What am I? Where am I now?

I knew one thing for sure. My purpose in life had been reduced to an invitation: enjoy every moment.

I didn’t have to ask myself if this was enough for me at this time ~ it was ~ but since realizing that my rescue was not forthcoming, I had contemplated my fate on this island, in this paradise.

And it didn’t feel fixed. In my mind at least, there was still a possibility of going back.

More to the point, as long as I remained on this island, there was always a possibility of going back.

I missed my companion, my family, my friends, my relatives, my colleagues.

I missed the eruptions of laughter, the mindful cooperation, the heartfelt conversations, the soulful discussions, the spirited collaborations.

Sadly, I imagined that they had given me up for deceased, that they more than likely had already performed a funeral service on my behalf, and that they had mourned my passing.

I acknowledged that the people, places, and things I had known and loved would likely feel unfamiliar to me if ever I went back, and the more time I spent here, the more unfamiliar they would feel.

The sun made an appearance and I rested my gaze on its brilliance as it rose above the horizon.

To keep my vocal cords limber, I chanted a rhythmic series of oms as I kept my gaze fixed on the sunrise. At other times, I would sing or narrate out loud to keep my voice supple.

All the while talking with myself ~ not to or at myself.

I imagined that the narratives I spoke would help me to remember what happened here if I were ever able to get back to some semblance of my previous life and pen a memoir of my experience.

At the appropriate time, I averted my gaze and scanned the sea.

I felt alone, but not lonely. I savored my solitude, my privacy, my freedom, with their momentary blooms of pure awareness inside the is of all that is, and I couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now. I just wished I could share it with someone.

From my exhaustive studies of science, religion, philosophy, and spirituality, I concluded ~ not merely surmised, but concluded ~ that I was a spiritual being in human form, occupying a dense matrix of energy and information in a multi-dimensional manifold that included space and time.

Even if I stayed here for the rest of my life, I would make the most of it ~ one journey among many to come in the cosmic scheme of things ~ and if my body were to expire here, then my essence, free of its earthly identity, could watch with interest as the flesh of its once vital body turned to stone.

I suddenly felt overcome by sleepiness from my nighttime vigil.

I returned to the cozy confines of my hammock and slipped into a deep sleep.


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