I Became Awake

Listen while you read:  Great Lake Swimmers

I became awake
From a very dark place
A patchwork of fear
Of poorly conceived ideas
With a blister of water
The mark of working hands
Ready to catch or cut
The senses aligned
The animal urgency
And voices picked up
Flowing over the static, late, quiet

All awake, all awake

I became awake
Fingers are open
Eyes, they are open
The firing of images
An orchestra of scribbles
The guts of an engine
The veins of a leaf
Light onto paper, exposed
A filament in a bulb
Up above or in the ground
Together, we are magic
Together, we are dreaming
Together, we reach endlessly
The centre of a seed
So full of possibilities

All awake, all awake

I became awake
I thought I was sleeping
But I was only forming 
A structure with no ceiling
With words like a runway
A cloud of a person drifting away
I was heavy, but now I am light
I was heavy, but now I am light

All awake, all awake

~ Tony Dekker  (Great Lake Swimmers)

I wish I could say that, post-eclipse, I became awake. It's a lovely idea. But the reality is that my life did not change in that moment. At best, I was able to register the event in a file drawer in my brain to pull out from time to time and smile at the memory. But maybe that's enough.

"I Became Awake" was released in 2007 on Ongiara. I am a big fan of Great Lake Swimmers. Aside from the soothing music that they produce, I find their lyrics emotive and gently compelling. And this song fits that description.

During the eclipse, we made an effort to pay attention, to take in every detail of the landscape, and to preserve the sounds and images to call back later, after the moment of totality had passed. And we did just that. We "made an effort." And there's the kicker: I (because I can only speak for myself here) felt that I had to try to pay attention to everything, as if I might have daydreamed through the experience if I didn't stay focused. I made an effort.

I would like to become awake enough to pay attention without trying to. I would like to observe my world with childlike wonder and take nothing for granted. I want to take notice of the blister of water, the veins of a leaf, the centre of a seed, even the guts of an engine. 

Two years ago, I devoted myself to a blog in which I fell in love with something every single day and wrote about it. (Yes, it got harder and harder as the year moved along. As in, "What the hell am I going to fall in love with today?") The exercise and discipline of the blog helped me to find the beautiful, the lovable, the remarkable in my world, even if it was a half-eaten bunny rabbit or dirty fingernails or fallen branches. For that year, I was tuned in to my surroundings, and in the process, I learned how to fall in love again.

I would like to think, to believe, that the eclipse experience will remind me to be more observant, to take notice, even when the moon and the sun are doing what they always do when there's not an eclipse.

All awake, all awake