The Time Thief

“The Title of this poem is ‘Holly Says Sobriety is Paying Attention,’” I say to our writing circle. It’s a poem about noticing what’s around you. We write to the prompt “Look…”  “Look,” I say, giving an example, “there’s breadcrumbs on the orange table cloth.  Look, there are five lemons in a bowl. Look, there are a dozen lilac petals scattered on the counter.”

We begin writing. “Look,” I write about last month’s eclipse, “the moon is taking a bite out of the sun.” I write about the awe of it all, and how billions of people around the world, instead of looking down at their phones looked up. Then I write the words “The Time Thief,” and I’m surprised.

Screenshot

The Time Thief is my phone. I’m almost always looking down instead of up. My phone is the the last thing I see before bed and the first thing I see upon waking. News, emails, social media, mindless videos — apparently none of them can ever wait, and their only job is to keep me engaged. They do — those dopamine hits just keep on coming, and with them, their irresistible invitation to check out. Life on endless autopilot. 

The Time Thief is relentless, but I don’t want to keep sleepwalking through my days. I’m beginning to employ some tricks to disentangle myself from my devices. I try reading only books before bed, on paper (any device is a slippery slope). I put my phone in another room before I go to sleep. And because I use my phone as an alarm clock, I bought a real alarm clock, one that wakes me with lovely, soft chimes.

I’m a work in progress. And so when I hear the siren call of the Time Thief, I try to remember a phrase my beloved yoga teacher Sarana often says: “Not now. Now only this.”

The other day when I woke up, I stayed in bed for a bit. My phone was in the other room, so instead, I watched the the morning light change from indigo to pale blue and then apricot as the sun rose. “Holly Says Sobriety is Paying Attention”— the birds are so active at sunrise! They sing a thousand songs in a thousand different voices in languages I do not understand. Was that a Steller Jay? A Pacific Wren? A Spotted Towhee? I glance at my hands. My veins are more pronounced. Time is passing. Time to pay attention.

****

Holly Says Sobriety Is Paying Attention by Susan Landers

Orange tabby in the foxglove.

Four beets in a bag.

The poppy’s blocky skeleton.

A net full of mulberries,

            sweetest

                        at the point

                        they let go.

Untie

the soft knots

of the crochet.

Begin again.

Look,

there’s a lily.

Look,

there’s another one.

****