Enlightenment

I used to walk around every day carrying a backpack full of bricks, because that’s what I thought I had to do. I’d look around and see everyone around me with their shoulders hunched forward and their gaze cast downward and think eh, that’s life. I wore the backpack to classes, to work, to social exchanges…sometimes, I would even forget to take it off before laying in bed every night and lose sleep over the pressure of the weight. One morning, I woke up…spine knotted, joints aching, heart filled with dread over carrying the damn backpack throughout the day ahead… and I decided to cheat. I looked both ways to make sure I was unseen, and then I slid one of the bricks out and tossed it clear through the window. The shattering glass sounded like wind chimes.

It’s truly amazing the difference that tossing just one brick can make. On my walk to class, I saw the same people, carrying their same backpacks. Their shoulders still crunched forward and together, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a bodily defense to protect the heart from bearing the weight of the bricks. Their eyes still guarded the paths ahead of their feet, so no one seemed to notice my little cheat. I strode down the streets with my shoulders poised and my chin held high, and I felt my spine stretch ten feet into the sky, and all of a sudden I was looking down at them. And a soft sound escaped my lungs and my lips and it took me a moment to realize that it was a laugh—a sound so beautifully rare in the world of the backpack.

You see, when your backpack is full of bricks, you spend so much time thinking about each individual brick… how the painful indentation it leaves in your ribcage is unique, but also how it falls in place like tetris blocks with the other bricks to form one unified, heavy shield. I learned that day that when you start dissembling that shield, one brick at a time, it vacates space for other things to fill your thoughts. That day, I noticed the kind of nostalgic shade of blue that painted the sky, I noticed the dancing rainbow spectrum that the sun’s rays manifested into my line of vision, I noticed the child-like squirrels thoughtlessly chasing each other up and down their mighty oak tree. And instead of shuffling my feet the rest of the way to class as I routinely do, I pivoted in my tracks, slung the backpack over my forearm, and I ran like hell. The bricks rhythmically pounded against my calf, heeding a warning that this is not what they want me to do, but I didn’t break stride. I ran until no backpack trodder could see me, and until I could hear nothing but my heaving breath and the symphony of nature around me.

I slipped the leather straps off my shoulders, and in their absence, I could feel wings beginning to grow. I started to hum a little tune, unsure of where it came from, but positive that it was familiar; and soon, my feet followed suit. I skipped and chasse’d and waltzed to the beat while laying brick by brick, one by one, into a circle in the dirt. As the song crescendoed and the steps picked up tempo, I became undeniably aware of the dewey beads of moisture running down my face. I thought it was sweat, maybe tears—I had never experienced such sweet serenity before. Turned out, it was gasoline. I put the backpack on just one more time—this time, completely empty. I put it on backwards, with the bag part resting on my belly rather than my back. What once wore me down so much, what shackled my feet to the ground, now felt so light that it was like gravity’s effects had been reversed. I gave it a tight hug and a quick kiss goodbye; after all, if the backpack had never given me its burdensome weight, I wouldn’t appreciate the lightness of its absence. Then, I rested it in the middle of my circle of bricks, and I let myself cry. Not sad, saline tears, and not quite happy tears either; no, these were the gasoline tears again. The kind with an uncontainable energy about them—the kind so powerful that they destroy everything that stands in their path and unapologetically force upon us a fresh start. The tears finally stopped when I looked down and saw my reflection in the oily rainbow that drenched the backpack. I wiped my cheeks, craned my neck as tall as it could reach, turned around, and tossed a match over my shoulder. As I walked away I could hear the blissful sounds of the fire crackling and snapping. It was almost as if the bricks were laughing now too; like I freed them from their weight just as much as I freed myself.

The next morning, I woke up after a deliciously satisfying night’s sleep feeling at peace. I wore a shirt that proudly boasted my very bare shoulders, and I strutted out the door to class. I wasn’t sure if it was still ground beneath my feet, or air. I cartwheeled and leaped and twirled and screamed through the streets. This time, the backpack trodding passersby had no choice but to notice. Some of their eyes met mine with discernment… others with wonder...Some even with envy. Eyes wide and cheeks blushing like they had seen something that should have only happened behind closed doors, they asked me, “Where is your backpack? This is not right. How did you do it?” I beamed and let out a deep, deafening belly laugh. Their jaws agape wider. I replied, “It’s so simple, don’t you see? All you have to do is choose not to wear it.”

—enlightenment