The Grandma I Want To Be

"If you sit very still, you'll see the stars looking back at you," Grandma said. "And if you sit very quietly," she continued, "you'll hear the very air moving around you."  She was magical to me.  She showed me the magic of the universe.

So I sat, as still and quiet as a 9-year-old Buddha, next to my grandmother under the tree on the hill.  I sat with my legs crossed and hands folded, the cool night air settling around us on our thick Mexican blanket. I closed my eyes and counted to a magical three. 

“What do you see?” she whispered.

I opened my eyes and the everywhere-lights astounded me. I felt surrounded by them, enveloped by them. I saw them near us on the ground, and I saw them in between the softly fluttering leaves of the tree. 

“I see some stars blinking at me,” I said. I see others glowing gently, and others shining hard, like they want me to notice them.” 

“What else?” she nudged.

“I see…..  Hmmmm….. I see some of them traveling. They’re moving.  Where are they going, Grandma?”

“Hmmm,” she echoed back at me. “Perhaps they are traveling through time and not through distance.  Perhaps they are traveling toward us, or maybe away from us.  Perhaps they knew us in a previous life, or perhaps they will know our great, great grandchildren.” 

My grandmother always found a way to show me old things in new ways. 

“And what do you hear, my love?” she asked.

I sat so, so still--  listening for our universe's secrets. I folded my hands in my lap. I took a big, deep breath so I could let it out so slowly-- so that it would not interfere with my listening. 

“Grandma, I hear the leaves.  I hear them softly touching each other.  Like when you rub my back so I can sleep.” 

“Ah, yes, I hear that too,” she whispered.  “And what else?”

I sat very still. I wanted to hear it all.  I closed my eyes and my mouth.  I even curled up my fingers into my palms-- I wanted my ears to be the only sense I could use. I listened with all my might.  I waited until I could hear all of it. I waited. 

“Grandma,” I whispered, in the softest voice I have ever used. It was almost more idea than speech. “I hear the wind brushing the hairs in my ear. I hear the wind moving up the sleeves of my sweater.  I hear it in my nose.  Grandma,” I whispered, “is that possible?  To hear the wind in my nose?”

She chuckled as softly as my own thoughts, “Yes, my love, you can hear the wind in your nose.”

“Grandma,” I continued, “I think I hear the galaxy breathing. And I think I hear those traveling stars moving past the other ones, the sitting-still ones.” 

“Yes, my love, you can hear that.” 

And so we sat.  Listening to the breath of the galaxy.

K. Kungie

June 1, 2020

Northridge, CA