Sometimes when rest eludes me I think of how little me regulated my nervous system.
Out of the porch I’d lie. Lie upside down and as flat as possible on the composite wood, shirt lifted exposing the pale flesh of my belly to the heat of the planks. I would burn myself into reality.
Occasionally I’d flip over. Eyes closed, I’d face the sun, letting its brightness paint the insides of my closed eyelids orange.
Breathing through my nose, I’d smell nearby barbecues. When the wisteria would bloom I’d inhale its sweet scent as it wafted through the dry, heated summer air.
My ears were full of noise: flies buzzing overhead, distant sirens, an occasional gunshot.
But mostly, while I lay on the porch, I sought escape from noise, escape from the sounds of slammed doors and exasperated sighs, escape from the sounds of two adults who had fallen out of love try to fall into understanding.
On that porch, I was safe. Engaging in the most pure meditation: innocence.