Sarcophagus Sanctuary.

Since the purchase of my mummy bag, and the return from my summer adventures, my bag has become somewhat of a sacred place. I go out of my way to create any opportunity to sleep in it.
'No, you take the couch, I'll just sleep on the floor.'
'Oh, you can't find your basket of blankets that's usually right by the couch? Well I guess I'll just use my bag.'
'O shoot, my sheets are probably dirty. Guess it's time to sleep in my bag.'
You get the idea.
I even slept in my bed, on top of my covers, in my Kelty bag for about a week. It's really kind of weird, I know. But I love it. Wriggling into the silky grey and green cocoon makes me feel childlike, safe and snug.

On a camping trip last Spring, one of my hiking companions did not have quite the same experience. There were six of us in what I believe was meant to be a four person tent, ah the joys of camping, and I had the honor of being stuck sleeping next to the kid who hated her sleeping bag. And I mean hated, well, maybe what I actually mean is scared. She was scared of her bag. She writhed for several hours. She was suffocating, sure she bought a kid's sized bag, absolutely undone by the fact that she couldn't assume her usual night time position she affectionately refers to as "the lizard". It would be quiet and then a flurry of swooshing as she trashed in her sarcophagus, trying to ward off the coming death. Death by nylon. It was hilarious, especially if you know her, and if from your perspective, a mummy bag is the best possible option for nighttime slumber.

The camping world adopted the term "mummy" from the Ancient Egyptian burial tradition to name this efficient sleeping gear. All too fitting to my friend who felt like she was being buried alive that chilly May night. Anyway, the Egyptians tightly wrapped their dead in strips of linen. They also shoved a chemical called Natron in the corpse's hollowed out chest, pulled out their brains with a hook and stashed treasures in their form fitting caskets. Yes, so it's a little weird. And sleeping in something named after such a disturbing tradition is a little creepy. Except for the stashing of treasure part, I could get used to finding a diamond or a cool mill stuffed in the lining of my bag. [Hm...maybe I should call REI and pitch that idea...] The reason they wrapped their dead so tightly with cloth however, was to protect them. The salty-concoction and the taking out of the organs was to prevent rotting and to hurry along the crisping process. But the strips of linen, along with the body-shaped sarcophagus [resembling my modern day sleeping bag] was for protection.

I think I'm feeling a little bit of that Ancient reasoning here in 2009. Although I'm not dead, I feel safe inside my bag. Tightly wrapped and neatly packaged in my own little sarcophagus of synthetic batting and nylon.

Alright that sounded a little creepy. Perhaps my own little cocoon is better? Whatever the word choice, I feel at home sleeping in there. All zipped up.

So invite me over, and forget about the blankets. I just need an excuse to sleep in my mummy bag, my little piece of home.