This guy can't sleep, he lays down, closes his eyes, lays in bed for an hour or two, and then bolts out of bed feeling claustrophobic. He spends long nights on the lakefront, sitting on the beach, in the darkness. He spends his days on his bicycle. Riding up and down the lakefront, not really going anywhere.
He sees me once in awhile, as I'm navigating around the neighborhood. He comes to me and unburdens himself. Tells me about his crisis. I say things like "that's terrible," "it will pass," "you need to find a focus," "things will get better," "maybe you should try meditating," etc.
I don't think he really listens to me. Maybe he just likes to watch my lips move. Maybe he just wants to borrow my ear. He tells me he's actually thinking of "medicating," not "meditating." He mentions Xanax and Ambien. I don't say anything to that. I mean, hell, what do I know about medication? While he's talking, I flash on Michael Jackson and Elvis Presley... it all worked out for them I guess.
I guess I can understand the panic. Maybe it's warranted: Moscow is in flames, Pakistan is flooding, USA is in depression. We all are getting older, and every one of us will die. The planet is being consumed by a ravenous human horde...
Still the PANIC THING seems so cliche. I think I'll go to a quiet space and meditate on what I'm gonna have for dinner...
