Making My Bed into . . . A Crack in the Universe

“I like my bed made. I like the rooms of my house to look clean and orderly. I assume most of us feel the same way. But, you know, I don’t have the time, I don’t have the real energy for it, and who’s going to see my slightly rumpled bed, anyway? Just me, later in the same day, getting into this same bed and just rumpling it up more.” Jerry Zimmerman

Squibs and Blurbs

By Jerry Zimmerman 

TEANECK New Jersey—(Weekly Hubris)—1/14/2013—Opening the slatted wood blinds in my bedroom on a, finally, sunny morning in December, I quietly watch the grey of the room fill with gold and heat. I’m dumb-struck by how simply wonderful it is to have this sunlight streaming through my old and banged-up sash windows, gently gilding everything; the reds of my loved Persian rug, the dark walnut-stained wood floors, the brass of the bed, the warm browns and golds of the cotton duvet cover.

My spirit goes up a notch, my familiar bedroom is transformed—life pokes its nose back into my tangled consciousness.

I have given myself a moment to be here, alive in my bedroom. God knows it’s not easy to do.

I see more and more that we all need help to do this most important thing in our lives and yet one of the most difficult: the necessity of taking a breath, smelling the coffee, waking up, stopping in our tracks, meditating for a minute. Whatever you want to call it, we need help in being aware that we are here and alive.

And we all need our own personal “tool box” to help us do the work necessary to find these moments.

My newest tool of choice is to make my bed in the morning, a truly epic endeavor.

This is a chore that has never been high on my list. Not as a child, not in college, not while I was married. Living alone for the past four years, I have sporadically made my bed in the morning, due to some whimsical and fleeting impulses with only momentary power.

I like my bed made. I like the rooms of my house to look clean and orderly. I assume most of us feel the same way. But, you know, I don’t have the time, I don’t have the real energy for it, and who’s going to see my slightly rumpled bed, anyway? Just me, later in the same day, getting into this same bed and just rumpling it up more.

I recently decided to make my bed every morning . . . as a serious task. I decided to do this because I realized how ridiculously hard this is for me! Spend ten minutes of precious time fixing my bed? Waste time on a chore that requires me to keep walking back and forth around a bed to straighten out sheets and blankets?

Is this what is important in my life?

Yes. Very important.

Not making the bed but making a choice. Deciding on a course of action. Following it through, well . . . religiously. If I can’t carry out the simple job of making my bed each morning, how can I depend on myself to do ANYTHING intentionally?

If you can’t do something intentionally—with intent—then you aren’t “doing,” you are just being run by all the big and little programs in your life, without your explicit permission. You may be functioning fine. You may be successful and motivated and have a family and friends and enjoy skiing and cooking and talking about politics and watching great movies but, really, do you stop for any one moment to see the sunlight on your neighbor’s garage, or quietly watch your child handle a toy, or even look around the room you’re in simply to see where you are?

Are you capable of deciding how you want to run your life, how you want to experience it? This doesn’t mean that you can’t and mustn’t continue with all the other actions that make your life workable and possible. But are you aware of the YOU in all of that, even for a moment?

This idea of being asleep to one’s own life is not new and is, in fact, the core idea of most religious/spiritual paths. However, being ubiquitous seems only to mute the power of this mystery rather than give it the desperate immediacy it merits.

We need to practice any skill to get better at it. You can’t fly a jet or run a fast mile or teach mathematics simply by having a passing interest in these things. You must study long and hard to acquire the new knowledge and power necessary just to begin to master anything, including and, most importantly, how you will live your life.

This is a tall order. And scary. And, seemingly, way too difficult.

The only way we have a chance is to start small and start where we are.

I start in my bedroom.

I decide not to cheat. I take all the top bedding and all the pillows off. I walk around and around the bed as many times as is required to do the job right. I’m not happy with a wrinkled duvet cover.

I make the bed.

I’m constantly at war with myself in the bedroom. I want to get this over with and do something important. I can always do this later or even tomorrow. I’m certain I need to be thinking about something else, almost anything else.

This is just a bed.

When I’m finished, I look around the room. It’s satisfying to see the bed neat, the room in order, the blinds open, my clothes put away.

And I feel, for an instant, that I am in my room and that I am in my life. And I am happy to have this rare moment, this moment that has nothing to do with a beautiful bed but has everything to do with my effort, my intention.

Making a household chore into a personal meditation. More than a neat room, it’s a neat trick.

Note: For more about the painter whose work illustrates this column, American painter John Singer Sargent, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Singer_Sargent and http://www.jssgallery.org/Paintings/An_Artist_in_His_Studio.htm.

And . . . a jumping-off point for those interested in investigating “intention, or “intent”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intention.