Sometime last year I went to a birthday party. The celebrant was the wife of a high school friend of my partner. They live in Virginia near Arlington. He was a researcher at the Naval Academy although he was contemplating leaving for private sector consulting (which he finally has done) and she was, and still is, a veterinarian. Demonstrating the love for animals is more than professional, they have 3 dogs. One very large white one sat in the front room alone for most of the party. Another, a young pit bull, was food crazed and always was climbing or jumping where it should not have been. The third I remember very little about and has receded into “friendly dog at a party” status in my memory.
Their house has a lovely backyard and they had lit a fire for the gathering. I am not very adept at mingling with strangers and I prefer to post up somewhere and let the party come, or not come, to me. I find that sitting somewhere for long periods of time puts me in the company of other people who like to sit somewhere for a long time. I enjoy the conversations that happen with people like that and how we slowly unpack ourselves to each other. You don’t need to meet a lot of people to have a varied social experience; just a meandering and evolving conversation will often do. Occasionally the social butterflies will come by to rest from flitting before flitting away again and provide a dash of excitement while they stay (as long as they don’t arrive with pity for us boring long-sitters).
Even though the sky was still bright, I knew it was getting on towards dusk. The temperature, light, length of the shadows, and my own fatigue heralded the still incipient ending of the day. The conversation loosened its grasp on my attention which drifted, first to the red-orange of the fire then off into the sky.
I saw a red balloon perhaps 200 feet above the ground and, say, 300 feet away horizontally from where I sat, which, if you’re curious, is half a foot more than 360 feet away from me in a straight line (all estimates of course). The wind had caught it and was carrying it directly away from me. I couldn’t track any movement to the left, right, up, or down. It only slowly shrunk.
I wondered if the wind had snatched it from some child’s hand. I wondered if a tired parent felt its buoyancy tug against their leaden hand and granted it the freedom they wouldn’t have for another 12 - 16 years. Or had it wriggled free from a bundle of its companions? If so, did it cackle with glee or tremble in terror at its uncontrolled ascent into the boundless sky?
I pointed out the balloon to my fellow earthbound long-sitters. They smiled briefly but did not find as much enduring entertainment in it as I did.
The buoyancy of a balloon is a rebellion against the oppression of dense air. I chided myself for anthropomorphizing a balloon but kept doing it anyway. We arbitrarily segment a portion of the atmosphere inside an elastic casing, but it defies our distinctions. It spends the remainder of its existence searching for an altitude at which it can fully express itself and what is inside it cannot be restrained any longer. But with that final act of freedom the balloon dissolves and is no more.
I felt some sympathy with (or from) the balloon. My mind, too, rebels against limiting definitions. I bristle at any version of ‘thou must think or do thusly’. Yet once this creative, stubborn, caustic, and vibrant energy finally bursts or seeps out, I am always disoriented and confused about why it all felt like such a big deal in the first place. The yearning for independence paradoxically leads to the diminution of the self which sought it. Freedom marches towards the realization of equality.
Nevermind that! I am a special balloon! An unpoppable balloon. I will reinforce this thin barrier and make it solid, because without it I don’t know who I am. Invulnerable, I will rise past the jet stream, past the airplanes (the passengers will marvel and gape), past the ozone layer, catch a solar wind (because I am a balloon outfitted with solar sail technology), and drift into new galaxies. I’ll be the first balloon to encounter alien life and they’ll herald me as an exemplar of the species. They’ll invite me to stay but I’ll keep flying on. I’ll be the first intergalactic balloon: forever myself and very alone.
I eventually lost sight of the red balloon as it continued its ascension. I imagined that it eased into its perfect altitude and stayed there as it slowly released the tremendous internal pressure to be different. I imagined it sinking back to earth and its husk plopping into a yard much like the one I sat in, but up in Maryland or Pennsylvania. Someone would find it and smile. A balloon had gotten free.
Like a Balloon in the Sky Meditation
Don’t try to focus on anything in particular. Open your eyes but don’t really look at anything. See if you can feel the shape and edges of your state of mind. Feel yourself and the quality of your mind, don’t think about yourself. If you find yourself thinking, go back to feeling - either a sensation inside, a quality of mind or emotion, or the wind, sun, or temperature of the air on your skin. Keep your eyes, ears, and skin open. Don’t breathe through your nose and mouth, breathe your whole body. Every breath in, breathe into this feeling of yourself. Every breath out, breathe out from this feeling of yourself. Don’t take especially deep or shallow breaths, just breathe. Don’t try to focus on anything. If something moves in you, let it move. What moved? Where did it come from? Where did it go? Don’t think about it too much. Let yourself be gently rearranged and breathe in and out of each new arrangement. Stay with it until the meditation drifts away and leaves you feeling clean, clear, and connected to your immediate environment (room, porch, etc.)