It seems as
though I’m in the queue for the pearly gates. The sun is shining down on us. In
the far-off distance, I can see luscious green mountaintops. The air is still
and quiet. It’s so peaceful.
The queue
feels orderly and calm. There’s quite a few ahead of me and quite a few behind
me. We all stand, one at a time, a bit of space apart.
Some people
don’t look too happy to be in the queue for the pearly gates. One woman looks
anxious and paranoid. She’s wearing a face mask and her eyes keep darting
around as if worried someone will jump on her.
A man is
talking manically to someone on his mobile phone, desperately trying
to fill the time.
Another man
is engrossed in his phone trying to distract himself with emails or
news bulletins.
It’s as if they
can’t bear this waiting time, as though they’re wanting to hurry through life
and get through those pearly gates as soon as possible.
I decide to
just stand there, soaking up the sun, trying to think of nothing. They call it
mindfulness these days. The ability to clear the mind of any chaotic thoughts
and just sit peacefully. Like you’re next to a calm lake with nothing to do but
watch your fishing pole and see if the fish take the bait.
I let the sun soak onto my pasty white arms, let the Vitamin D pour into
my cells.
I put the morning
behind me – the work that I did at my desk before I came out. Instead I just
stand, trying to think of nothing, breathing.
A doorman to
the pearly gates walks down along the queue. He has a walkie-talkie and he
wears a high-vis jacket. “Any over-65’s?” he bellows. “Over 65’s can skip the
queue.”
Well that
makes sense, I think. The man who has been chatting on his phone stops
mid-track and smiles wryly. It is a smile of compassion, of understanding. We
don’t mind that the over 65’s skip the queue. We are glad to let them. I make a
mental note that I have another 20 years before I join the 65’s. What am I
going to do with those 20 years, while I wait in this queue of life?
The over 65’s
pass me, slowly. One has a walking stick. The other is so hunched over her
zimmer frame that her body has taken on a sort of ‘L’ shape, rather than being
upright.
65 is not
old these days, I think. My parents are in their 70’s and they still seem
sprightly to me. There was that one time my dad was really sick and he clung on
to my hand in the hospital. I thought it was his last hour; it was terrifying.
But he made a full recovery. 5 years in remission and out cycling daily.
I think of
all the lovely things there will be inside. Delicious fresh fruits, luxurious desserts,
rows and rows of chocolate – anything we want to pick.
But I’m
happy to just wait here for now, to bask in the sunlight and enjoy the moment
of mindfulness.
I look up to
see a huge sign towering over us. You can’t miss it. Anyone could see it for
miles. It must be at least 6 feet tall. Yes, if I was to stand next to it, it
would tower over me. I guess they don’t want anyone to miss this place. I guess
we’ll all have to come here eventually.
The queue
inches forward again. I’m getting closer now.
I can see a
nurse in uniform. Anyone working closely with sick people are at a greater risk.
They’re allowed to skip the queue too.
Again the
queue nudges forward. It’s a slow moving queue but it’s persistent. It does
keep moving. Eventually we will get there.
The doorman
with the walkie-talkie and the high vis jacket gives me the nod.
It is my
time.
My time has
come.
I’ve reached
my destination.
I give him a
smile of thanks, pop my pound in the trolley, whizz it through the sanitising
station and I’m in.
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#Tesco
#EveryLittleHelps
#Lockdown
