Napping like a cat

Last week I kept falling asleep at work.

I was teaching on the glorious land of 42 Acres,
at an immersion crafted by the courageous Earth Law Centre,
and I started to wonder if I had indeed developed narcolepsy,
or perhaps had been metamorphosed into a cat.

It proved to be neither,
but instead the common,
modern-world affliction
of exhaustion.

It was peculiar, 
because I didn’t know I was tired.
It wasn’t the lack-of-sleep,
or been-a-bit-busy
type of tired.

But rather,
a set-in-my-soul,
inherited-through-time
type of tired.

It was only when I stopped
— truly stopped —
off with the phone,
along with my shoes —
that I received the diagnosis.

Across those few graceful days,
it was a gift
to notice
the long grass dance in the wind,
the bees commune with the flowers,
the air fizz with life,
the body yield to rest,
the mind come to settle.

It appears to me that we
— the human species —
have grown lonely behind our screens,
wearied by the internet,
and overwhelmed by the news.

Faced with this troublesome trend,
I see one silver lining
— one vital remedy —
in the growing desire
to come offline,
and come together,
with ourselves,
with each other,
and with the land.