The Awakening
The Awakening
July 15, 2026
It was a late Sunday morning, six or eight weeks ago. Some private disaster had happened, either spraying clean my laptop screen until it turned green and dysfunctional, or fearing my hearing aids were too weak to help me hear.
About noon, I took off for Costco. Maybe someone there could fix my hearing aids.
No, no technician was there that Sunday; I would have to come back.
I was moving out of state in six weeks, so I didn’t need any bulk shopping at Costco. But I like the store, and I drove 36 miles one way to get there, so why not look around? It was Memorial Day weekend, with crowds carrying stuffed baskets, families with children in baby backpacks, sales galore, and the usual busy hum of holiday Sunday shopping.
But as I walked the aisles, it was almost total silence. The throngs of people were not a crushing crowd, but whispers of speaking with bodies transparent, shopping carts of straw with containers of parchment. No hard substance. No weight.
I walked among souls, pushing my cart pretending to shop so I wouldn’t look suspicious in my lightness of being among these spirits. The usual crowd was delighting in their dollar fifty hot dogs, embracing a canvas bean bag chair, or cradling a crate of ripe mangoes.
They were at the same time, old and young, short and tall, male and female. Black, white, Asian, Middle Eastern. Some elderly people were in motorized carts; some parents bundled their wide-eyed babies. All uniquely different and completely undifferentiated at the same time. Each body was tempered glass with shape but no color. All movement was choreographed in harmony. I could look right through them and see all corners of the store, both sides of the aisles where they stood.
I picked up a few items to keep it real and to be inconspicuous. I checked out and drove home.
What just happened?
I felt such peace. I had no more concern for my hearing aids or broken laptop. It would all be made right soon.
Some part of me was missing that I didn’t miss.