Residue

Last night residual thoughts from recent reading resulted in a strange (some would say ludicrous) action: I slept in my backyard in my sleeping bag. Another section of THROUGH PAINTED DESERTS lingered in my psyche from a few nights ago. Miller lived in the forest near the country club at which he worked. He says, "I suppose it takes about a week to get used to sleeping outside. But once accustomed to it, a person cant easily go back to having a roof over his head." I romanced the idea of sleeping without the comforts of a mattress, although some would argue my mattress offers little comfort. Would it free my soul slightly? Would being exposed to nature put me more in touch with its Creator? I longed to know.
I small gained insights into life, but as is often the case with life adventures, they were far from what I expected. I hoped for peaceful slumber, but suffered irrational fears. I do not fear bear attacks in the woods. I do fear homeless men attacking me for money. I hoped for communion with nature, but experienced assault by the restless city.
In spite the division between expectation and experience I value what I learned. Living without the luxuries of 'basic living' free the soul in a small way. Doing something difficult provides reward (such as fulfillment) that can outweigh the cost (sleeplessness). Being part of the world in which we live-including the city-surpasses the voyeurism of modern media experience.