Meditating on utopia, I observe my interaction with the world like a child. It’s with curiosity and an acknowledgement of my separateness from the world that I find utopia. I realize “utopia” is a loaded term, but nonetheless there’s room for it in our vocabulary if we interact with the word thoughtfully and playfully.
It was Friday on a virtual zoom ‘writing for dance’ workshop led by an old Miami acquaintance – with whom I recently rekindled – that I began to meditate on utopia. The acquaintance leading the workshop asked us what came to mind when we heard “utopia.” It was in that workshop that she used the phrase, “utopia now.”
In utopia we bend time; stretch moments; flick away hours. In utopia, the largest structures erected are bridges, and no building blocks the sun. In utopia, nostalgia has no name. In utopia, everything is an option.
In utopia, we speak thoughtfully, and operate within the boundaries of language. Utopia is a place inside ourselves where we’re comfortable naked; a virtual return to the Garden; a reclamation.
In utopia, snap peas are candy. In utopia, we pet trees slightly with our fingertips. In utopia, we bathe lovingly, soapy and hot. In utopia, food is medicine. In utopia, I see my neighbors’ smiles but do not hear their conversation. In utopia, leaves are illuminated, gold and green, with no apparent shape as they shake their morning shake. In utopia, I smell dirt and freshwater and yeast. In utopia, our heads, hands, and hearts are aligned.
In utopia, there’s freedom from expectation. The world has been rid of anticipation beyond necessity, and life is a dance, not a march. There’s endless movement in this world, and infinite points along which we move – to explore. In utopia, humans are confident in ourselves and our choices. There’s only who we are and our inherent preferences. We’re untouched by preconception and confirmation bias. Our heart space is open in utopia.
When I find myself in utopia, navigating a neo-Garden of Eden on Earth in the middle of a global pandemic, I see an abyss; a trampoline; a mountain. Only peripherally can I sense any bother in utopia, and so, I look within, into infinite colorless universes dividing across space and time, and breathe.
To make sense of utopia, I’m calling on YOU to share your version with me. Fill this out and tag me @humanlexi, and email me a video of you reading it aloud at email@example.com.