A Sunny Kitchen of the Mind

            

Painting Ⓒ Laura Heyward         Almost all my life I’ve been on the alert for catastrophes — that’s “anxiety disorder,” I know now. I  thought it was just life.  For me it means muscles tense and ready, eyes and ears alert, and imagination filling in when they don't come up with anything. I startle easily, not just when I’m awake. For decades into my adult life I jolted awake, terrified, whenever it rained in the night: had I left my bike out? And then I remembered that I was grown-up, there was no bike, no one was going to yell at me about that.

But the anxiety was still there  — underneath, or hanging over, everything, a vague expectation that something awful was going to happen. This was sometimes conscious, but usually not; I woke up in the morning, body braced for it. Whatever “it” is — that was rarely defined. I only became aware it from listening to dharmapunxnyc.podbean.com. Josh explained the body chemistry and neuroscience and yes, psychology, of anxiety and sometimes, while we were meditating and even after, I’d feel ease — a sense of delicious relaxation and well-being all over. My mind became that bright pool Buddhists talk about. That never lasted long, though.

And so I never expected anything different, until a few weeks ago I dreamed I was in a sunny white kitchen with a wooden table and high white ceiling. Through the tall window I saw a river, rusty bridges, flat roofs — the dirty, semi-industrial landscape of old New York. But the kitchen was sunny, the table pale wood scrubbed clean, and around it, some of my siblings were talking in a relaxed way about everyday topics. This in itself could never happen, not least because none of us visit each other and few of us speak to each other.

Some people even had partners — nice, normal partners, children. The conversation was relaxed, pleasant, as the sun streamed in through the tall white-framed window and one of my sisters stood at the old gas stove, getting dinner onto the table. There were no hidden tensions, no dramas. Everyone was at ease, even me.

“Where am I?” I said, blinking.

The sister who in real life is the only one of us to have a child looked puzzled, and I told her I really didn’t know where I was, I had no memory of getting there or of anything since Memorial Day. She told me and talked eagerly and excitedly about  the apartment and how lucky they were to have it, where they had been living before. Normal conversation. The mood stayed relaxed, everyone talking pleasantly about everyday things; and in the dream, that didn't seem unusual. This was just how we were — at ease with ourselves and each other.

When I woke up, I felt that ease and relaxation all over my body and with it came this surprising thought: “Nothing terrible is going to happen today.”  I believed that, my body believed it. I felt different.

I don’t know why this happened— maybe all that meditating is paying off. They always say  “your practice will start showing up for you in your life.” It has been nine years, after all. Or maybe it’s because terrible things are happening, in real life, though not to me.  Many people besides me have been expecting a disaster ever since the 2016 election and now we have one. Now “it” is defined and happening.

But there IS a sunny kitchen of the mind and I can inhabit it....not all the time, but more and more, wherever I am, whatever is happening. And when all this is over, I'll invite people into my actual kitchen, and things can be as relaxed and pleasant as they were in the dream.

Painting Ⓒ Laura Heyward


A NOTE ON THE PAINTINGS: Not urban landscapes, but sunny kitchens of the mind for sure! I asked my friend Lolly if she would send me paintings from kitchens and these are only some of her beauties. To see more -- http://www.lauraheyward.com.       

                                                                                                          

                                                             Painting Ⓒ Laura Heyward