A Different Set of Eyes

December 9, 2023

I nibble thoughtfully on a late morning snack of buttered sourdough toast. I contemplate lunch and dinner menus. I gaze around at empty tables and shelves awaiting Christmas decorations, the Fall decor now sequestered for storage. 

Nothing is great. Nothing is terrible. I’m solidly on the contented side of the happy-unhappy equation. The teeter totter feels stabilized, as if it has weighted itself toward “somehow, things are good despite appearances.” I feel like a few intrepid fairies have tightened the bolts on that teeter totter, and it’s not going to move back the other way again. One can hope. 

*****

I still dwell within the surface me, the conscious part that continues participating in everyday life, making plans and fulfilling homemaker and family carer duties. That hasn’t gone anywhere. 

As I look around the house, or wander outside, I feel as if I’m gazing from a different set of eyes. The mundane observer catalogs what needs to be done. This other, separate-feeling entity of self is detached and wordless, yet humming with a fathoms-deep, bell-like thrum. It observes the same reality as my mundane self, but scarcely engages with what it observes.

If I were prone to worrying about my mental health, grasping for therapy if something felt off, I’m sure I could find a therapist to learnedly opine on this “condition.” A spiritually educated person might nod sagely and comment, “Of course, you’re experiencing the Fifth Dimension. You are ascending. Congratulations!”

My contented, observing, detached self has the final word. I don’t actually care what it’s called. I’m just enjoying how it feels. 

*****

I’ve recently heard about a couple of disturbing outcomes for hip replacement recipients. The worry and uncertainty nibble at the edges of my mind. I direct my attention to the newest update from Skye on med bed rollout, and remind myself that med beds are real and are happening. I can waffle right up to the day of surgery and still change my mind. Really, there’s no need to worry.

The bolt-securing fairies all hop on my part of the teeter totter and help me tip back into irrational contentment. The fairies stay with me while their gnome friends tighten the bolts once again. There, lads, we’ve got her back in place. Let’s add some Fairy Magic Super Glue this time to make sure it holds.

I can’t help but smile at what my imagination pulls up from the depths of the creative soup. One of the fairies regards me solemnly. What makes you think it’s just imagination? We’re every bit as real as you are. 

I contemplate this for a moment. How do I know what is real, and what is not? The answer is, I don’t. The fairy gives me a slow wink, shimmers around the edges, and vanishes, leaving nothing but a faint impression upon the etheric retina. 

My attention wanders to the kitchen and I head there to prep the next meal. I’m sure I catch a glimpse of a sparkling wing when I open the silverware drawer, but perhaps it was just the antique enameled demitasse spoon that never gets used. It’s the perfect size for a fairy to stir a little cauldron, I think, and close the drawer softly.