I am not a physically active person, preferring the comforts of a cozy armchair and a good book. Yet there are still a lot of movements and actions in my life, as a friend reminded me.
I was conditioned to strive, to be effortful. A moment of rest deemed wasteful. The do-er in me conditioned since young not to be content with what is, “enough” must not be a familiar state. I am referring to the plans we have on the weekend, the schedule for each day, the constant time-fillers or distractions. They may be fun, they may serve the notion of betterment of self or improvement to living, the illusion of me-time or down-time.
Yet we have, in hindsight, those things which if not done, would have little positive or negative impact on the grand scheme of our life, don’t we? Perhaps the space left empty would invite something different, if not grander? Perhaps the space would allow for something we could not yet fathom. Is the unknown, the mystery, the not-knowing so scary? Is “being bored” so unbearable?
What is it that we look for, beyond the simple life? The constant do-ing, the lauded busy-ness – what purpose do they serve?
If there is to be the empty-moments – empty with nothing tangible to do, the moments of settling, the spirit in stillness – how would it truly feel?
Do responsibilities necessarily invite busy-ness? Or are they the excuses to fill the emptiness in our empty moments? Can we sit in the void, and feel the presence of our being, its worthiness? Can we feel the perfection of a moment, however fleeting, and not yearn for more?
Does gratitude for what we have enough to halt, even momentarily, this addictive impetus?
Do you ever wonder?
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