The Two-Step Program

THE TWO-STEP PROGRAM

WHEN ADAM SMALL GOT TIRED, he went to bed and to sleep. When he was done sleeping, he got up. When he was done being up, he went back to bed. Then he’d go to sleep. Then he’d get back up. That was the way it was with a lot of things in Adam’s life. When he was done with something, he did something else. When he was done with a book, he put it down. When he was hungry, he ate; when he was full, he stopped. Thirst too: Water in, water out.
Adam Small was a human being. He had a birth certificate to prove it.
Once (a long time ago), when Adam Small was done sitting, he stood up. Later, when he was done standing, he sat back down.
Another time (still a long time ago), when he was done standing, instead of sitting, he walked. When he was done walking, he stood. Another time he ran. Another time he got on his bike and rode away. And then sometimes, again, he’d just sit. Or go to the bathroom (sitting or standing). Or go to bed. And go to sleep. And when he was done sleeping (or when he had to go to the bathroom), he got up. And sat down. And when he was done sitting down and going to the bathroom, he went back to bed. And to sleep. Adam was beginning to recognize a whole range of possibilities in his life.
One day (still a long time ago, but no longer as long) he walked through a doorway. Once through the doorway, he stood outside. He did not sit. He did not walk. But he knew that that was Ok. He knew that it was Ok because he knew that the focus did not always need to be on himself. There were other beings in the world. There were other non-beings in the world.
Outside, the sun shined. When the sun was done shining, the sun set. The sun shined, the sun set. The moon rose, the night fell. Darkness filled the sky, except, of course, for the moon and the stars. When the moon and the stars were done, the sun replaced them.
Two weeks later, the moon did not rise. The sun set, but the moon did not rise. The stars did, and then they set. The sun returned. The sun set.
Sometimes, there were clouds. When the clouds were done, the sun shined again. And the moon and the stars. Sometimes, when there were clouds, the sun and the clouds shared the sky. And one could see all three: the sun and the clouds and the sky. Adam Small could see all three. Sometimes, when there were clouds, it rained; other times it didn’t. Sometimes there were floods, and sometimes there weren’t.
Sometimes, there were even rainbows.
When things were no longer cloudy, clarity set in.
Other times, when things were cloudy and clouds filled the entire sky, clarity still set in.
And other times still, there was no clarity at all, no matter what the weather.
When Adam Small was done with high school, he went to college. When he was done with college (temporarily), he went into the Army. When he was done with the Army, he went back to college. When he was done with college, he didn’t quite know exactly what to do, and so there were a lot of things that he did not do. Likewise, there were a lot of things he did do. He was single. When he was done being single, he married. When he was done being married, he divorced. There were kids, and the kids came, and the kids went, in between the marriage and the divorce. And afterwards too.
In between and all along, and inside and outside, and standing and sitting, waking and sleeping, in sunshine or in rain. Good weather or bad, although Adam did not always know which was which.
Adam Small was a human being.
Adam Small’s life contained both happiness and sorrow. When he was done being happy, he was sad; when he was done being sad, he was happy. Sometimes he was happy and sad at the same time; other times he was neither happy nor sad, but something in between. Most of the time he was neither happy nor sad, but that place in between, which confused him. When he was done being confused, he was happy again, and when he was done being happy, he was sad again, and when he was both, he was as confused as when he was neither.
When Adam found a job (which then became his career, which then became a big part of his life), he worked. At the end of each day, when he was done working, he stopped working, and he went home. At home he ate, and when he was done eating, he stopped eating; and after he had stopped eating, he did a number of other things until it was time for him to go to bed. After he got into bed, he went to sleep. When he was done sleeping, he woke up. After he woke up, he got up. After he got up, he went to work. Soon he began to realize that he was doing a lot of these things a lot of the time--going to work and coming home from work and eating and drinking and going to bed, and all the other things in between --and with that realization, he understood that he would be doing all of this for a long, long time to come. He called it his career. He called it his life.
Adam Small was a human being. He had a birth certificate to prove it.
He worked and he worked, and it seemed that he was never done working. Even when he was done working, it seemed that he was never done working. He called it his career. He called it life.
Finally--many, many years later--after he had completed his career, he stopped working. He planned to take a long vacation. After taking his long vacation, he came home to his house. He sat down in his house, and after he was done sitting down in his house, he stood up, and after he stood up and had been standing for awhile and he was done standing, he sat back down. And got back up. He went to the window, and he looked out the window at all the world outside. All the world that he could see, that is. And when he was done looking out the window, he turned away from the window. Then he went to bed and to sleep. After he was done sleeping, he got up. He filled his days and nights sleeping and waking and sitting and standing and eating and drinking and looking out the window. And probably some other things too.
Adam Small was a human being; he had a birth certificate to prove it, although he didn’t know exactly where it was anymore.
When he was happy, he laughed, and when he was done laughing, he cried. Adam Small cried a lot, but he laughed a lot too. Which is how it is, and--fortunately--how it should be.
Adam Small lived. Adam Small had lived. Adam Small knew that when he was done living, he would die. He was sleeping more and more these days. And when he was done sleeping, he did not always get up. Sometimes he stayed in bed all day. When he did get up, he would sometimes sit for a long time in his favorite chair that he had moved over to and in front of the window, and for a long time he would sit and look out the window at the world that he could see. And then he would get up and go back to bed. And go back to sleep, which he was doing more and more often.
He was a human being.
The sun rose, and the sun set. The moon rose, and the moon set. The stars crossed the big, huge, big sky in the day and in the night, when Adam could see the stars and when he could not. It did not matter whether or not he could see the stars; they crossed the sky regardless. Everything crossed the sky regardless. More and more Adam Small stayed inside, and less and less he ventured outside. But when he was up and awake, he would still go to the window and look out at the world that was outside and which included the sky. When he was in bed, he could not see the sky, but when it rained, he could hear the sky, or at least he could hear that part of the sky that was falling--the rain on the roof, which reminded him of the outside and of the days when he had been able to be outside and look at the sky and the rain and the rainbows and the sun and the moon and, at night, the stars, where there was clarity.
He grew tired. He grew more tired. He became very tired, and it seemed that he was sleeping more often than he was awake. Until finally, he never finished sleeping. He was never done sleeping. And so he never woke up. And so, therefore, he never got up.