Even a hole in the sand

A friend claims she can sleep through anything or rather, sleep anywhere. She claims it’s the way she’s always been, shrugging away any understanding of how she came to be this way, because it came at birth? Military men and women are trained to sleep anywhere, a hole in the sand. I assume their training comes by being pushed to exhaustion, which mothers can’t do and still be nice to their children.

In light of my Remedy for an Insomniac post, I’m curious now. After camping this month down by Santa Cruz and sleeping terribly for two nights, I’m wondering if I can find the trick of sleeping anywhere, the way I found the trick of sleeping through the night, but on some level of biofeedback. Now I’m sleeping without waking even briefly. It’s developed in the way that having a thing seems to attract more of that thing, the rich getting richer, the sick always more sick. When a toddler gets his nap, he sleeps better at night. I once thought I couldn’t sleep in a room with traveling companions who snore, but a traveling journalist wrote recently that, when he couldn’t sleep in the room with a snoring co-worker, he embraced the rhythm, breathed along with the man’s noise, and went to sleep just fine. It’s true if you can incorporate it.

I haven’t had very many epiphanies, 4 that I can remember. They come to me in the mornings. Two of them were solutions to problems that had spanned several weeks, coming to me after hours of sleep, unfolding underneath whatever trivial dreams I’d had that night to work out the kinks of the day. One came to me one morning in Whole Foods not a month ago at the baker’s case. They are so beautiful, the ginger biscuits. I said to myself, “I wanna be a pastry chef.” Granted, I’ve been baking a lot the last year, but it was a great step to form the words and make a pledge that may bind me to following through.

The epiphany I’ve least understood and made the least use of came to me several years ago in the shower (where all good ideas come to a person, according to Brad). I realized that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. Not surprisingly, the words diminish the experience. Anything. It stopped me, wondering what it implied. Anything? It was an empowering thought. I believe in that kind of change but only on a rare level because the routine of our habits, which I both love and hate, is the killer of change.

I’ve never liked even the thought of a self help book. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s just the self-defeating attitude of someone who loves her routine.

Several months ago, I woke up convinced that I could move objects telepathically. My experience with people who claim this is limited. Twenty years ago, an older girlfriend of mine claimed to have moved something with her mind when she was very angry at her husband. She claimed it was not a drafty window left open, but her mind. So I believe her. Although I know the possibility of telepathy is real, it’s by far been the stuff of an X File and not real to me personally.

This belief that I could do it myself was so strong that it scared me, enough that I was afraid to try it. I tried it, and failed. Frankly, I was relieved. Whatever I’d just dreamed had influenced me. But the feeling was so strong that even right now, the memory of my mind’s potential scares me all over again. The only thing that calms me is to try to move something with my mind. I’ll let y’all know if it ever works ;-) (For those who know me, I was NOT on a Smallville binge marathon at the time.)

What I want now is to be able to fall asleep anywhere, when Brad’s light is still on or camping in a cold tent in October or on our horrid sofa bed, which I think the kids broke. I remember Lois Lane waking in the 1978 Fortress in that silver lined hammock. I was 9 years old and thought what a comfortable looking bed! Can comfort only be found in routine? Or can peaceful sleep be the discipline of imagining a happy place?