“We live submerged at the bottom of an ocean of air.” – Evangelista Torricelli

There was a time before air. There was a time when what we saw around us between the ground and the sky was a void, comprised of absolutely nothing. We still kind of see things this way – in her wonderful book An Ocean of Air, Gabrielle Walker points out, “We even describe anything that’s full of air as being ‘empty.’” 

We used to believe air was nothing. We saw wind, we used air pumps, we used vacuums, but it was all nothing. It was everywhere and nowhere. We weren’t aware of the trillions of molecules pinging around bringing us atmosphere and sound and oxygen all the time. We breathed it, we manipulated it, but we didn’t even see it. As a field of inquiry, air basically didn’t exist until the 17th century. When scientists looked closer, they found so much to discover – gases, oxygen, atmosphere – the very exploration of space traces a direct line back to investigation of the air and sky. Oxygen made the ozone layer, making it possible for bacteria to leave the oceans because of protection from ultraviolet radiation – our life in the air was made possible by air.

Life is like this. It’s everywhere, so everywhere that we don’t even see it. A huge proportion of what we interact with comes directly from living things – the air we breathe, the food we eat, the people we relate to, the plants we tend – practically everything. The very rocks in the ground are transformed by life. Yet we spend virtually none of our time wondering at this life around us, unaware moment by moment that we are alone in the known universe in having this life, this luxurious richness metabolizing and reproducing all around us. 

Consciousness is like this. It’s everywhere, but we don’t see it. Our lives are consumed with our thoughts and emotions and experiences. We live submerged at the bottom of an ocean of thoughts, and don’t know any other way to be until we learn differently. They are so constant, and so compelling, that it seems they were always already here. We feel the wind of thoughts pulling us around, we use chemicals to change our experience of consciousness, we even have moments that seem devoid of consciousness, but it is always there, creating an experience we’re not even aware of. 

Meditation gives us a window into the experience of consciousness. Meditation is like suddenly being able to see the atoms ricocheting around, and even being able to grab a handful and see the oxygen as distinct from the nitrogen and hydrogen. Meditation even looks like nothing. You’re just sitting there breathing. But it’s as full of substance as air. 

My mantra for sober life is, “Look closer.” The more I meditate, the more there is for me to find in meditation. Like pretty much every aspect of sober life, the quieter I am, the more I find to discover. Like fish in the ocean, we are swimming in life and consciousness and air, and in our ordinary lives, we don’t see these things as anything at all. It makes me wonder what future generations will discover (if we don’t cook our planet to death first). What is so pervasive that we can’t even see it at this moment in our development – something so always already there that we don’t even see it as a field of inquiry? Let’s keep looking, I can’t wait to find out.