Camping-In: My Sleeping Closet

For the past 3 weeks I’ve been sleeping in a closet. That’s right, a sleeping closet. It’s all part of camping-in (as opposed to camping-out) as I get settled in my new place.

When I first arrived, I grabbed a few things from my father’s house, along the camping-in model (something to sleep on, something to sleep under, and something to make tea in) and went over there. The place was a vast sea of wall to wall white carpet. I began dreaming my new place into being. “Visualizing,” my farmer grandfather used to say long before the pnrase became expensive.

Since it was so empty, I decided to sleep in the walk-in closet which felt cozy in contrast to sleeping in the midst of the white carpet sea in an empty, echoing room.

I like my sleeping closet. It feels like a pullman berth on a sleeping car several decades past. Private, intimate, cave-like and womb-like.

Visitors ask, “So where do you sleep?” and then bust a gut laughing when I show them. It will all change soon when my brother brings a proper bed over. Then the closet will become my meditation room. And, maybe I’ll still sleep there when visitors come calling overnight.