Sometimes I wonder if I’m mad. Not angry; crazy.
I wonder, sometimes, if it’s mad to pause while reading Carl Rogers’ work on my front porch. Looking up to the clouds, feeling grateful for his words, his care for people, his earnest efforts on humanity’s behalf. Book to my chest, I’m lost in thought, as Miss Gail says for what might be the third time, loudly and laughing by now, “Denise! I said did you see the Big Brother finale?” Laughing along—not as self-consciously as I would if we hadn’t been sharing a wall in our duplex homes for the past decade—I report proudly that I have sworn off TV. Gail knows well about me and TV. “You’re so crazy,” she says, both intrigued and endeared. “Go back to your books, doctor,” she chides.
Do others gaze at the sky and imagine connecting with the collective unconscious, or something greater? Settling into an upright posture, opening to the felt sense of the body in space. An invitation to welcome no-space, no-time—where these points of inquiry exist infinitely. Beckoning, stable, available to all who seek them. “I’m here. Are you?”
I wonder if it’s possible that this practice extends beyond mere expansion of our personal neural networks. I wonder if it’s possible that beyond each individual brain in this moment in time, in this concrete space that we’re building pathways that connect us to something much larger. For the benefit of all life everywhere, as the saying goes.
I want to live in a world where this could be what’s happening. Is that mad?
Seeking answers outside myself makes me wonder. Searching inside, I find the truth.