The Tools We Know

A meditation.

Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash

I watch the rain fall onto sparse grass and clover. The pine tree above me glows by the streetlamp. I close my eyes and breath in deeply. I love the thick humidity and the smell of earth. The land is now dripping green, growth bursting from record rainfall. Buttercups beckon with their soft yellow petals and I’m tempted to hold one under my chin. Dandelions reach their tufts high, ready for a wish-maker to set them free.

I’m slowing my thoughts as they trip over themselves, trying to make sense of the world. I attempt to build coherence with words but all of the definitions are changing. The mourning doves, chickadees, and robins sing just like they always have. Their calls remind me of playing outside until dark as a kid. When I’m in the nearby parks or on my patio it’s easy to imagine nothing can hurt me. If I’m laying face-down, exalting in the mud, no one can drag me away.

I’ve been thinking about tools and the way we use them. My phone is a tool I use to wake up, communicate, pass time, take photos, and see in the dark. The internet is a tool I use to know what’s going on locally and globally. I use it for entertainment and distraction. It’s how I share myself more widely. These tools may be addicting, but they do not control me. I am in control of how I use the tools at my disposal. I notice my cravings and know what I need, even if those things are at odds.

These days I’ve been sober. More sober than I’ve been since late 2015 when I first entered college. It started when I quit nicotine in the winter and more recently I’ve reduced my drinking to a few days a month. The first night I came home from a party completely sober, my great grandfather came to mind. I never met him, but his writing desk was passed down to me and sits in front of the window in my room. He loved that desk - when him and my great grandma got into fights, he would leave the house and bring his desk with him. No one knows how long it’s been in our family. It’s one of the few heirlooms I have.

My great grandfather was an alcoholic. Addiction threads itself through my maternal lineage, the needle finding its way to our blood. I watched my biological mother survive heroine addiction and my mom face her struggles with alcohol. I’ve never considered myself to have any addictions outside of nicotine, but now that I’m adopting a sober mindset it feels like I’m overcoming something. The fact I feel my grandfather more than I ever have confirms this. Being sober is a form of generational healing.

I don’t need to be 100% drug-free to consider myself sober. Drugs are their own kinds of tools. Alcohol helps shake off inhibition and speak more freely. Weed treats a variety of physical and mental ailments. Kratom helps with opioid withdrawal. Psilocybin connects us to ourselves and a feeling of oneness. There’s a reason people have always utilized these substances: medicines are tools we use to heal and expand our capabilities. Any substance can be a medicine in the right dosage. Sobriety is helping me stop and consider if I really need to alter my consciousness in the moment. Do I want a drink just to have something to do with my hands? Ordering water with lemon satisfies that craving, and allows me to stay alert.

A tool is used to carry out a particular function. A bomb is used to break open, destroy, annihilate. A tent is used to protect from the elements and provide privacy. A university is used to produce and bestow particular knowledge. A kite is used to hold the wind, to feel something unseen. AI is used to connect points of data quickly, and produce results based on the formulas it is provided. Clocks are used to organize time. A uniform is used to signify status, power, and belonging. Money is used to trade. The state is used to distribute resources and control over a geographic region. A shovel is used to dig.

I buried Buttons in my grandma and pap’s garden, his body planted like a seed. M foraged for dandelions. V arranged stones. My family watched the ritual unfold. Now it is time to nurture, wait, and pray. Things are set in motion that I cannot predict. I am craving something new and unknowable, something my hands will understand. In preparation, I put down what I’ve been holding. I look to the sky in the evening. I sit on my patio as the rain falls. I smell the life in the earth.

Here is a language used to seek. Tell me what you’ve found.