So last week was crazy and this week promises more of the same?
Nah — it’s all good.
“We know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Have a good week.
Relax
Out of focus
He awoke in a hospital room. There were needles in his arms attached to bags full of liquid, and he heard the hums and beeping of machinery, and the place just smelled like medicine.
A nurse was leaning over him.
“I thought you might be waking up. I’ll get a doctor,” and she was out of the room before he could ask a question.
Another nurse bustled in followed by the woman he’d seen first. No, this new woman was a doctor. He saw that in the badge on her chest.
“How long was I sleeping?” he asked.
“Hello to you, too, Marc,” said the newcomer, not unkindly. “I’m Dr. Vermiere. You’ve been out for years.”
“Years?! How many years?”
“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Steve Ditko quit Spider-Man.”
“The movie hero? Who’s Steve Ditko?”
“There’s a Spider-Man movie?”
The two women exchanged a glance.
“It’s been a very long time,” the nurse said.
“Try. What is the last thing you can clearly recall?” said Dr. Vermiere.
“I’m really not sure,” Marc said. “It’s hard to know what was real and what is my imagination.”
“Are you not sure if I’m real?” the doctor asked.
“I don’t know if I’m real. This could be a dream.” He felt the sheet under his hands and wiggled his toes. “But I think this might be real.”
“I can assure you it is.”
“How? How can you assure me?” Marc asked.
“I am real. I know you are real. I’m pretty sure I know reality when I see it.”
“How nice for you,” he said. “Apparently it’s been a very long time since I could be so certain.”
“You’ve been dreaming.”
“Or maybe you have,” he said, and they both chuckled, but then she saw the look in his eyes.
“Oh, you’re not joking,” said Dr. Vermiere.
They talked for quite some time, the doctor trying to assure him he was awake at last, the patient reaching into his psyche and looking around the room for confirmation that he wasn’t still dreaming.
Would he ever know for sure?
Could he ever be certain of anything, ever again?
How long ago was the sixties?
“What year is this?”
“2026.”
“No.”
“Sorry, yes.”
He looked more carefully at his hands. They did look like old man’s hands.
He wanted a concrete sign that he was real, but he whispered to himself, “Define real.”
“Oh, come on, this is getting silly,” the doctor asked.
“I didn’t mean to get you angry,” he said.
“I’m not angry,” she said. “I’m just concerned that you’re not waking up to the real world very quickly.”
“How do you know? How do I know you didn’t yank me out of reality and into an illusion of some kind? Is my name really Marc?” There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Marc added, “See, that’s just it. All of this could be in my mind.”
“OK, that’s it, I have to get you out of there,” Dr. Vermiere said.
“Out of where? Where am I, anyway?”
“Help me with this, nurse!”
The two women descended on him together, but he escaped just in time. How he got away, he never did quite understand.
A breath of freedom
I went out on the deck with my pen and journal while the dogs did their morning thing and accidentally left the smartphone in the house. It was a little after sunrise and the deck is on the west side of the house, so the sun had not reached that far yet. The thermometer said it was 58-60 degrees out, but it was very comfortable. I thought about how I would be chilled and alarmed if the temperature indoors dipped to 58.
Not having the phone in my pocket left me with a vague sense of withdrawal for a moment, but I also felt a calming sense of “Oh, what a beautiful morning.” The world inside the smartphone is not very calming these days. Cut off from that world, even for the few minutes I sat outside in the morning shade, I felt strangely sane.
I often write about the nuttiness of cyberspace and the need to break free and live a life away from mesmerizing devices from time to time, but I very rarely take my own advice. There, in the crisp summer morning air, disconnected from everything except my senses, reality struck me between the eyes and called me home.
It’s called social media, but often people are anything but sociable towards each other. So many folks seem to get online so they can pick a fight — those folks even have a specific title: troll, an ugly word if ever I heard one. Out there on the deck, away from the possibility I might encounter a troll, I felt free, and I hope I don’t need to tell you that freedom feels great.
I get up every morning, check to make sure my post has arrived safely in this space, and go on Facebook to post a link. Most days I do a quick look around to see what else is happening; most days the trolls are lurking and eager to pounce. I think I may experiment for a few days with signing on, posting the link, and signing off again as fast as I can. In the cool, bracing summer air with the smartphone out of my reach, that idea feels quite inviting.